


Memory is the Key

by Ithiel_Dragon



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Artificial Intelligence, Attempt at Humor, Drama, Enemies to Friends, Explicit Sexual Content, Flashbacks, Friends to Enemies, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Mental Health Issues, On Hiatus, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Serious Injuries, Suicidal Thoughts, Tags May Change, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2018-12-05 21:31:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 31,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11586570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ithiel_Dragon/pseuds/Ithiel_Dragon
Summary: Events unfold a little differently when the Reds and Blues take on the Meta and Agent Washington at Sidewinder.  Epsilon is forced to make a decision that could change everything for everyone involved.  As always, memory is the key...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, I just realized after many years that Red vs. Blue didn't end after season 5 like I thought it did, and just finished binge watching seasons six thu fifteen. What can I say except wow, and the plot bunnies are eating me alive. Don't know how long this will be, or exactly where it is going yet, but fair warning the rating may go up in later chapters, and there also might be slash content, since I can never seem to write anything without a little slash and smut.

**Sidewinder - Present Day...**

He had known this would happen. 

The Meta… all it had wanted was an attempt to get its hands on another AI fragment.  That was all it had ever wanted.  Why else would it have agreed to go on this mission in the first place? So why was he so surprised when it had done exactly what Washington had expected it to do?  Had he really thought he could control the Meta? Bargain with it?  Or had he arrogantly thought he could actually defeat it once the time came?

Stupid.

Now it had Tex. Washington didn't even know how that was possible.  She should be dead.  Along with the other AI fragments. But how didn't really matter at this point. Now that the Meta had a new AI Fragment that was more than enough to allow it to activate its armor enhancements, putting Washington at a serious disadvantage.  If the Meta got its hands on Epsilon too…

He couldn’t let that happen. 

The fight against Tex had already taken a lot out of him.  The HUD in his helmet helpfully informed him he had multiple broken ribs, shrapnel lodged in his shoulder and leg, and several gunshot wounds.  If not for the healing unit trying to knit him back together and pumping pain killers through his body, not to mention pure adrenaline, he wouldn’t even be standing right now.  He was no match for the Meta in this state.  Probably wouldn’t have been a match for it even at peak performance. 

But he had to try…

“Doc, you have to protect Epsilon!” he shouted, “Run!”

The Meta slammed into him practically before the words left his mouth and it felt like being hit by a truck.  He felt something give in his chest, an almost blinding pain, and he barely managed not to scream.  He couldn’t catch his breath and tasted blood in his mouth.  A grenade from the Brute Shot sent him sprawling into the snow and left his ears ringing. 

This was his fault.  He’d risked everything once in an attempt to destroy the Meta, take down the Director, and expose Project Freelancer.  He’d failed.  Now because of him, because he'd made a deal with the devil, because he couldn’t stand the idea of spending the rest of his life in prison, it was going to start all over again.  Because of him, Alpha and the other AI fragments had been destroyed for nothing.  Now Epsilon…

He had started this.  He needed to finish it one way or another.

Wash stumbled to his feet and launched himself onto the Meta’s back.  It was a stupid move.  At this point he was probably only annoying the Meta, but maybe it would at least buy Epsilon and Doc some time to get away.  It earned him a beating and another grenade to the back that his armor barely deflected.  But by that point it didn’t really matter anymore.  He knew he wasn't walking away from this.  His HUD began flashing that his condition was critical. 

He coughed.  Spitting out blood as the Meta advanced on him.  He could barely climb to his knees.  Barely managed to remain upright and hold onto the pistol that was basically useless.

“I knew you would do this Meta…” He said weakly, staring up at the man towering over him.  The Meta… Maine… his friend… no his friend had died a long time ago.  Probably the second Sigma had been implanted.  Wash _knew_ that, but… “I just can’t believe…”

Believe… what?  Had he really believed that Maine might still be in there somewhere?  That once the AI's had been destroyed, he might be able to reach the man he'd once been? Maybe he had.  Maybe he had deluded himself that much. Maybe he had been so desperate not to be alone, he'd let himself be fooled.  Allowed himself to believe that his friend… had somehow survived.  For a while it had almost been like before.  It was easy to think of the hunt for Epsilon as just another mission with his partner at his side, someone he had always trusted with his life... Maybe he _had_ believed. Maybe he was a fool…

“... can’t believe…” he looked through the nearly invisible form standing over him.  He blinked against the gray haze that encroached at the edges of his vision.  He… had to be hallucinating.  He blinked again, swaying where he knelt, but the image still remained.  When he saw the Meta turn to look over its shoulder, he knew he wasn’t seeing things. The dark shape began growing steadily clearer and he knew it was real.  A ship.  The Simulation Troopers?

“I can’t believe it…” he whispered, and apparently neither could the Meta. 

Washington honestly wasn’t sure how he moved.  Sheer willpower was the only explanation.  Somehow he managed to dive out of the way of the crashing Pelican.  He didn’t know what had happened to the Meta. When Wash finally managed to stumble to his feet and look around, he didn’t see the familiar white and gold armor anywhere.  Maybe the Pelican had landed on it?

“I would say that was the cavalry, but I’ve never seen a line of horses crash into the battlefield from outer space before,” he muttered, and realized he might be growing a little delirious from the pain and blood loss. 

“Hey, is it possible for a memory fragment out of an artificial intelligence program enclosed inside of a robotic body to piss its pants?  Because I’m pretty sure I just did that.”

Definitely delirious. 

“Come on, let’s see how many of your friends survived that.”

“You know, they’re not really my friends.”

“That’s okay, I’m sure none of them really survived,” it was probably the most civil exchange that he and Epsilon had ever shared. 

Surprisingly enough Sim Troopers had survived.  They were alive and so was Wash.  But now came the hard part.  Tex was still trapped inside the failing memory unit, and Epsilon was demanding that he let her out.  He wanted to.  He really did.  Wash had never meant for her to get captured inside of it.  But there was nothing he could do. He didn't have the time.  He didn't have the tools he would need. He tried to explain this to Epsilon but he wasn’t listening. 

He probably shouldn’t be surprised.  Epsilon… Church… the Director… always had a one track mind when it came to Tex… Alison… Wash felt terrible even as the words left his mouth, bargaining with Epsilon to try to free Tex if he agreed to come with him, because he knew how slim his chances were of succeeding.  But as long as Epsilon agreed to come with him, he was willing to try.  Even if he hated himself for it, he had no choice. He couldn’t go back to prison.  He just… couldn’t… The idea of sitting alone in a cell with nothing but shattered memories of failure and dead friends to keep him company for the rest of his life... it would drive him insane… and he just… couldn’t. He’d rather die than go back…

Maybe Epsilon did understand.  Wash realized quickly as they argued about Epsilon going into the Memory Unit to draw out Tex that the AI had begun to remember. About the Director.  Alpha.  Alison.  Wash wondered if he remembered… everything.  If he realized that Wash already _knew_ everything that had happened, because Epsilon had already shown him. If Epsilon remembered what he had done after they had implanted him into Washington’s mind.  If the AI remembered how it had torn them both apart.  Nearly destroyed them both. 

_Please… please help us Agent Washington… please…_

_No more… I can’t… please… no more…_

_It hurts… I want to die… let me die… please…_

Wash had wanted to help.  He had tried.  But it hadn’t been enough.  Nothing had ever been enough.  He couldn't save Epsilon.  Couldn't save Maine.  Couldn't save any of the other Freelancers. Couldn't even save himself.  It seemed no matter what he did, he always failed.  Yes… he understood what it was like.  He understood all too well. 

“I think I’m getting the idea,” Wash replied honestly as he watched the Meta rise from the snow with the memory unit still attached to its back.  Stupid.  So stupid.  He barely managed to shove Epsilon out of the way as it attacked.  The first explosion from the Brute Shot sent Wash back to the ground, but he still managed to empty his entire clip into the Meta.  The bullets did minimal damage thanks to the armor’s protective shielding, but he kept shooting anyway. 

At this point he knew the Meta was just toying with him.  The Meta could have finished him off easily, so what other explanation could there be?  When his bullets ran out he reached for the only weapon he had left. His knife.  He was good with it. Damned good.  But knew he wasn’t going to last long… only… he did.  The healing unit was working harder than ever to keep him on his feet, to keep him moving, but he shouldn’t be fast enough in his current condition to keep dodging the Meta’s attacks.  But he did.  He definitely shouldn’t be fast enough to land a hit.  And yet… he did…

What was going on? 

When the Meta's cloaking field activated his eyes darted around desperately trying to figure out where the next attack would come from.  Every breath he took caused almost unbearable pain to shoot through his chest.  His legs felt like wet noodles and he didn’t know how he was still standing.  His HUD kept flashing critical… critical… where was it… where was…?

He saw the steps in the snow.  There was no way the Meta would be so foolish to give himself away like that.  There was no way…

Maine?   

Wash didn’t stop to think.  If he stopped to think he was going to die.  Might do that anyway, but at least he wouldn’t go down without a fight.  He threw the knife and to his complete shock, it hit home…

It shouldn’t have… the Meta should have been able to dodge… easily…

Could it…?

Wash hesitated and that was his final mistake.  An explosion from the Meta’s weapon sent him flying back and he landed in the snow with a sickening thud.  He shouldn’t be able to feel the cold, the armor should be regulating his temperature inside… but he was cold… so damned cold…

He couldn’t move. 

He thought he heard more gunshots nearby but he wasn’t sure.  Everything seemed very far away.  Like he was listening through deep water and he was sinking… sinking so quickly… it was so dark…

“Wash, come on!  He needs help!”

_On your feet soldier.  
_

He couldn’t… he was done… there was no way…

_Please help us Agent Washington..._

_It hurts… Help us…_

_You’re going to be okay, Buddy.  Do you hear me? You’re going to be…_

_On your feet!_

It was the least he could do, to help them… him… he wasn’t even sure who he wanted to help anymore.  Epsilon.  Maine.  Himself… maybe he could do all three.  At least in the end he would get his wish.  He wouldn’t go back to prison. 

“You know what to do,” he told Sarge.  That’s what he hoped, at least.  Somehow he managed to stumble back to his feet with the older man’s help.  Then as Sarge distracted the Meta with his shotgun, Wash came at it from the side.  They were only going to get one shot at this.

“Maine!” he shouted.  Though the sound that left his throat was barely legible due to pain and exhaustion the Meta must have heard him because it stopped attacking the simulation soldiers.  Turned to look at him.  Didn’t move when Wash crashed into it, sending them both to the ground.  Wash wrapped his arms as tight as he could around his former friend and held on. 

“Now!” he shouted and apparently Sarge really did know what to do. The Sim Troopers were already in the process of shoving the destroyed Warthog off the edge of the cliff.  As it went over, the tow line that had been attached to Wash quickly grew taunt.  He expected the Meta to at least try to free itself… to attempt to throw him off, but instead he felt the big man’s arms wind around him and hold on tightly.

“Maine…” 

With a sharp yank that sent his stomach into his throat they were sliding, then flying… falling… he held onto Maine and Maine held onto him just as tightly. They hit the unforgiving water together and sank quickly under the ice.  Even knowing he was going to die Wash felt a smile pull at his lips.  
  
At least… he wouldn’t be alone anymore…


	2. Chapter 2

**Sidewinder - Present Day...**

The entire situation was just a hundred different kinds of fucked up.

He'd tried to stop Tex from going after the Director, and ended up shot for his trouble. Washington and the Meta had shown up thanks to his damned recovery beacon, and sure, Tex was damned good but she wasn't a match for the both of them working together. Now she was trapped inside a failing memory unit and the Meta had her.

He couldn't even try to help get the memory unit back, because if the Meta got his hands on him too, it would be all over.

" _Doc, you have to protect Epsilon!"_

Of all the fucking... he wouldn't even _need_ protection if the bastard hadn't come after him in the first place! Washington only wanted to _protect_ him because he _needed_ him. A get out of fucking jail free card. That was all he was. Washington certainly didn't give a fuck that _he_ had been imprisoned in that same fucking memory unit in the Freelancer Command headquarters for _years_.

Even though he had promised... had promised...

Anger... Betrayal... Abandonment...

Those feelings burned inside him like a white-hot flame, begging to be released. Just like they had the first time he had seen the Washington in Valhalla after so many years. It made Epsilon wish he still had his 'laser face' if only so there was a way to release those feelings. Maybe if he were still a floating ball, he would at least be useful, instead of cowering in the trees with Doc watching the fight.

Watching Washington lose.

It would have been smarter to run like the man had ordered them to. It hadn't taken long for Epsilon to calculate Washington's chances of survival against the Meta and... the results hadn't been very comforting. Though Washington had held a constant rank of six on the Freelancer leaderboard that was mostly due to his skill with firearms and ability to work with a team. That was where the former Freelancer excelled. One to one combat against Maine of all people? Washington was as good as dead, even if he hadn't already had the shit kicked out of him during the fight with Tex.

Epsilon and Doc should have run as far and as fast as they could without looking back. To get as far away from the Meta as they could because once he was done with Washington he was going to come right for them. That was the _logical_ choice. But Epsilon wasn't Delta, and logic had never been his main driving force.

He couldn't leave... couldn't leave her... him... Tex... Wash... he couldn't just abandon them...

Epsilon hadn't counted on the arrival of the Simulation Troopers. Given the situation, it definitely wasn't an unwelcome development, just a surprising one.

" _Come on, let's see how many of your friends survived that."_

His friends...

No... not his friends. They weren't here for him. They were here for Alpha. They treated him like Alpha. Their friend. But he wasn't Alpha. He was similar. He had most of Alpha (and the Director's) memories, but he didn't have them all. He didn't have any of Alpha's memories after they had been separated. He had never actually _been_ to Blood Gulch or shared any of the experiences that Alpha had with these men. He had learned enough from Caboose, the records he had downloaded, and the other Sim Troopers to fake it, but that didn't make him Alpha, no matter how much he sometimes wished he could be.

He pretended, because it was easier. It would have just confused Caboose to try to explain that he wasn't the Church he knew even though he acted very much like him. Plus... it was nice having friends. Friends who would do anything to help him. Risk their lives... Risk everything... He had been alone for so damned long.  It was easier to pretend he was Alpha. Alpha's memories had always been more predominant in his mind anyway since he'd woken up. They overpowered everything. Not surprising perhaps, since that was essentially all he had been initially made of. He knew he _had_ developed some of his own memories after he and Alpha had been separated... it was just... hard to recall them. They were buried down deep, but every time Epsilon looked at Washington he felt them pressing to the front, trying to break free.

Anger... Betrayal... Abandonment...

_Please… please help us Agent Washington… please…_

Pain... confusion...

Epsilon shoved those memories away. He didn't _want_ to remember them. He didn't need any more pain. Tex... He had to free Tex. That's what mattered. That's what had _always_ mattered. To Alpha... the Director... Alison... It was because of them, _him_ , that she was here. He had to save her... he had to...

If saving her meant going with Washington... then that's what he would do. He had to save her. He could not fail... not again...

_"Do you have any idea what that's like?"_

" _I think I'm getting the idea."_

The Meta. Of course, the fucking Meta had to ruin everything. Once again, Epsilon could do nothing but stand on the sidelines while Washington tried to protect him. It wasn't going to do any good. The Meta was still strong.  Injured, but not nearly as badly as Washington. There's no way Washington was going to win. The Meta was going to kill him.

_No more... it hurts... please... make it stop..._

_He was tired... so tired..._

_Help me..._

Epsilon shook his head. Pressed his hands against his helmet as though that could stop his head from feeling like it was going to explode from the inside. He could feel the memories... pressing... the barrier was cracking... he couldn't hold them back for much longer... he had to... he didn't want to remember...

The Reds and the Blues were attacking the Meta. Maybe they actually stood a chance... Suddenly Washington was there... Epsilon didn't think the Freelancer was even capable of moving much less fighting anymore. Washington crashed into the Meta sending them both to the ground and the memory unit flying. Epsilon was running towards it before he even stopped to think. It was failing... he didn't have much time... he had to get inside... get Tex...

He made the mistake of looking back towards Washington and the Meta. He saw the Reds shoving the Warthog over the cliff. Saw the tow cable grow taunt. He expected to see Wash roll clear of the Meta, but that didn't happen. Instead, both were sliding across the ground, heading straight towards the edge of the cliff.

"Washington!" Sarge shouted, sounding just as shocked as Epsilon felt.

"What the fuck!" Tucker.

"NO!" Caboose.

They were all too far away to do anything.

Grif and Simmons had gotten clear as soon as the Warthog had gone over the cliff. They hadn't realized what was happening until it was too late.

Epsilon found himself frozen in place. Like there was glitch in his programming. Seconds could feel like an eternity for an AI but they still ran out eventually. When he watched Washington disappear over the edge of the cliff with the Meta, he felt something shatter inside of him, and the memories came rushing forth like a tidal wave. Not Alpha's memories. _His_. Epsilon's.

"David!" Epsilon shouted and he was running before he even realized he'd made the conscious decision to move. Not for the memory unit. Not for Tex. That's what the director and the Alpha, that's what _they_ would have chosen to do. The director loved Alison. His wife. The Alpha loved Tex, because they had been created together.  They were a part of each other. Epsilon had the memories from them both. He loved Alison and Tex because _they_ did. But he wasn't them. He had his own memories... his own _feelings_ and he couldn't ignore them. Couldn't ignore who'd been the first person to ever show him kindness when he'd been brought screaming into this world against his will. The first person who'd offered him comfort and safety... who'd promised to help... even if he'd broken that promise...

Washington... _David_...

"Church! Wait!"

"What the _hell_!"

He didn't wait. He didn't have time to wait. David didn't have time... He was probably already dead... No, no, his sensors could still pick up at least one life reading in the water below. Very faint... So, Epsilon dove over the edge of the cliff into the freezing waters below.

"CHURCH!"

He hit the water like a bullet and sank like an anchor. That might be a problem later. Android bodies weren't exactly built for buoyancy. But he'd figure that part out when the time came. Human bodies weren't built for surviving in sub freezing temperatures not to mention breathing underwater. The armor would help some, but Epsilon knew Wash's armor was damaged. David wasn't going to last long in this.

Wash and the Meta were sinking quickly, but Epsilon was sinking faster he eventually managed to catch up to them. He had to get Wash back to the surface. Forget drowning, the water pressure alone was going to crush them all if they kept sinking like this. Epsilon felt along David's body trying to find the tow hook he knew the stupid self-sacrificing bastard had attached to himself. Though Epsilon supposed he couldn't say much about self sacrificing...

He found the hook and tried to yank it free, but the damned thing was stuck... god damn it... it was always something... maybe he could cut it off...

Suddenly something strong wrapped around his wrist and he let out a startled cry before he could help it. He looked up and even in the near total darkness he could see the gold dome of the Meta's helmet staring right at him.


	3. Chapter 3

**The** _**Mother of Invention** _ **– Many Years ago...**

The ship had crashed.

That had not been Sigma's plan.

Apparently he had miscalculated when Agent Texas would return and the lengths she might go to secure the Alpha. If only he had been able to acquire Delta from Agent York. His brother's analytical skills would have been better suited for helping him to predict their foe's strategies. Alas, Agent York had disappeared with his brother right after the attack on Agent Wyoming.

Yet another plan failed.

He had been unsuccessful in acquiring Wyoming's armor enhancement or more importantly the Gamma AI. Agent Texas had managed to stop Agent Maine and more soldiers had arrived on the scene before he could deliver the killing blow. At least Sigma had managed to convince the Director that Texas herself was responsible for the attack, but he had lost Gamma, Omega, and Delta all at the same time.

It was… frustrating. But no matter.

While not ideal, the current situation could certainly be used to his advantage. Agent Washington should still be in the Infirmary after his implantation with Epsilon. Apparently the process had gone poorly. In the confusion caused by the crash Sigma now not only had the opportunity to acquire Epsilon, but perhaps the Alpha as well. He and Agent Maine were currently on their way to the infirmary now.

The fire, smoke, and fallen debris hampered their progress some, but they soon reached their destination. The infirmary was completely destroyed. Large twisted heaps of metal blocked his sight, but his scanners could still detect one life form inside.  Metal shrieked as Agent Maine shoved aside the heavy beams blocking his path. Eventually they found who they'd been looking for. Agent Washington was on the floor pinned between the wall and a large slab of metal that would have cut him in half had he not been wearing his armor.

Agent Maine knelt down beside the unconscious man and ripped off his helmet. Blood stained the normally pale blonde hair bright red and made him pause, but only for a moment. He felt along the back of the younger man's neck for the Epsilon chip and growled when he realized it was missing.

Gone. They had come all this way for _nothing_.

With growing frustration Sigma urged Agent Maine to stand. To leave. They still had time. The labs where the Alpha was being kept were not far. All they had to do was reach it before Agent Texas or the Director… But Maine did not move. He remained kneeling on the floor beside the unconscious Freelancer… hurt… but still alive…

_Leave him. He is nothing._

A low angry growl left Agent Maine's throat and his hands clenched to fists at his side.

Sigma realized he needed to change tactics.

_It is too late. He will not survive anyway. Better to put him out of his misery than to let him suffer any more…_

Agent Maine's hands reached for the younger man's neck again and Sigma thought he had won. But all of a sudden Maine reared back and stood with an abrupt snarl. Sigma was shocked to suddenly find himself being shoved to the back of his host's mind where he could barely influence his thoughts. Agent Maine was now more in control of his own body than he'd been in months as he strained to lift several tons of debris off the other man and drag him free.

Sigma shouldn't be able to feel rage, not without Omega, but there was no other way for him to describe what he felt as he struggled to regain control over Agent Maine. Yet no matter what he tried, the reigns kept slipping through his fingers as Agent Maine hauled Agent Washington over his shoulder and carried him quickly out of the wreckage. It wasn't until Maine had made it outside and deposited his burden safely in the snow that Sigma began to regain some measure of control over the man.

It was then that Sigma realized that this man, Agent Washington, was dangerous. It would have been satisfying to snap his neck or crush the man's skull beneath his boot right then and there, but Agent Maine wouldn't allow it. Instead they left him in the snow. Hopefully to die. It took far less of a push to force Maine to rip out Agent Carolina's implants and hurl her off the cliff, and despite Sigma's frustration, he could not deny he was curious.

What made Agent Washington so special?

* * *

**Present Day...**

It was dark.  Cold.  He felt like he had been asleep… for a long time.

Years perhaps.

His only clear memories were of pain and a voice in his head. At first, a whisper. Constant.  Soothing. Calculating. Persuading. It promised to make him stronger. To make him whole and he listened. He learned. Over time the voice had grown steadily louder, taking up more and more space inside of his head, until it was all he could hear. Until it was impossible to ignore. Until he forgot why he should fight.

The voice had been Sigma.

It had not been the only voice. There had been others, added over time. Eta. Iota. Not as loud. In fact, sometimes they had been almost comforting. But they had taken up even more space inside of his head. Theta, small and scared but welcomed by the others with open arms. Pushing him into the furthest corners of his mind. Omega, full of rage. Gamma, deceitful. Beta, strong, so strong. Delta, calm and logical. Their voices a growing cacophony in his mind. Breaking him apart into smaller and smaller pieces, until there was almost nothing left.  Leaving him scattered, broken and confused.  His own mind became a prison.  Soon there was not enough left of him to care.

They were the Meta.

Over time he'd forgotten that he'd once had a different name. He forgot that he'd once had his own voice. _They_ were one now and they only had one goal. To become more powerful. To hunt down the remaining Freelancers, take back what belonged to them, to become whole.

It had taken years but they had nearly reached their goal. The only thing standing in their way had been the Freelancer.  Agent Washington.  If only they had killed the him when they'd had the chance. Why had they not killed him? They'd had multiple chances, but something always stopped them. Something… someone… small, broken, almost forgotten. 

They'd been so close.  But something had gone wrong. The Alpha… it was wrong… wrong… This wasn't how it was supposed to be… It was…

Silence.

Suddenly they were gone. He'd woken to complete silence in his mind for the first time he could remember.  His mind was empty and it was… terrifying. He screamed. It was a horrible sound.  His voice echoed like the roar of a dying animal off the walls of his cell. But the silence in his mind was far worse.

He'd screamed for days, until his throat was raw and bleeding.  Until he could simply scream no more. After that he waited and he listened. Sometimes when it was quiet he thought he could still hear them… whispering. Even though he knew they were gone and his mind was nothing but an empty cavern there were still echoes and they whispered to him when he was asleep. Especially when he dreamed. They told him to wait.

The opportunity, when it came, had come sooner than he expected.

A man with his… skills… was always needed sooner or later. But he had not expected… _him_ to be there as well. It had been all he could do not to rip the man's head off of his shoulders as soon as he laid eyes on him. _He_ was the reason they were gone. He could tell the other man was not pleased with the situation either. But they were expected to work together to find it. Him.  The last one… _Epsilon_.

The man called him 'Meta' like it was a curse. Meta. He didn't understand why hearing that name from the other man bothered him. He _was_ the Meta. But he had once had another name. When the Director and the Councilor had used it, it had sounded foreign on their lips. Yet somehow whenever _this_ man called him Meta it sounded… wrong.

He quickly noticed other man didn't sleep. He was always awake when the Meta went to sleep, and was always awake before him in the morning. He knew why. Knew the man didn't trust him not to kill him in his sleep. He didn't blame him. He didn't know why that bothered him.

Sometimes he dreamed and during that time memories were pulled from the mangled recesses of his mind like shards of broken glass, scratching and cutting, leaving him pained and bleeding.  Memories of before he'd become the Meta.  He remembered his name had been Agent Maine but he didn't remember the man that name had once belonged to. He might have had another name before that, but that name was lost forever.

_My name's Agent Washington… but you can call me David if you want…_

The man…. Agent Washington… David... surprisingly understood him when he snarled and growled. He remembered he had been the only one who ever seemed to understand him after… after… a tower… a freeway… choking on blood when his throat was torn open by gunfire… That had been the beginning... and the end...

_Come on, Buddy. Hang in there…_

Washington had never been afraid of him before… not even when Agent Maine had dislocated his shoulder during a training session the first time they'd met. Instead the rookie had come up to him the next day, grinning even with his arm still in a sling, and asked him to show him the move. David had never been afraid of him like so many others had been… until now.

One night he'd woken to the sound of Washington screaming in his sleep, exhaustion finally having won out over his stubbornness. He did not know why the sound bothered him so much.  He had attempted to wake him and had nearly been shot for his trouble. He never tried to wake Washington again, no matter how loudly he screamed during the night.  When the Medic... Doc... joined them the man had watched Washington thrash in his sleep with an oddly concerned expression on his face.  The Meta watched too and wished there was something he could do to make the screaming stop.

Despite all their troubles, they'd still worked surprisingly well together. Perhaps not as well as when they had been… partners. But well enough. Against all odds they'd managed to track down Epsilon.  Finding Tex… had been a surprise. Even more surprising was the near blinding rage he felt when she had Washington pinned on the ground with a gun pointed at his face.  He'd attacked her without really thinking of the consequences.  She was not the Beta. The Beta had been destroyed with the others. This one was different, but just as strong. The fight had been difficult, but together, they had managed to defeat her.

Finally… finally he'd had what he needed.

He'd heard Washington's protests. Ignored them, even though a part of him… wanted to listen. But he couldn't hear it over the roaring emptiness in his head. He needed it… needed them... needed the pain to stop…

She was just as powerful as the other's had been. Her voice was just as loud, and filled his mind just as fully as Sigma's once had. But she was different from Sigma. Her goal was different. Her voice… angry. So much angrier than any of the others had ever been, even Omega. Because she… _remembered_. She remembered everything. She had been a part of… Epsilon. She knew what _he_ had done.  The Director. She wanted him dead. He deserved to die for everything he had done to him… to them… all of them.

Washington… he didn't know where the Director was, but she didn't care. She would not let that stop her. She would kill them all.

No… no… 

_David…_

Foolish. He should have listened… should have…

It had to end. Here. Now.

He was cold.  It was dark.  He was tired.  He wanted it to be over... finally over...

But it didn't have to end for David. It didn't have to. There was barely enough light in the freezing waters for him to make out the blue form that swam up to them. But when he caught the armored wrist in his hand he knew it was real. Epsilon. It was what he had come for… the only thing that he thought had mattered to him… up till now. For the first time in many years, he only heard his own thoughts. His own voice in his head telling him what to do. He smiled faintly as he released the android's wrist and wrenched the hook free from Washington's armor.

The Meta… Maine… continued to sink, but Washington… David was free.


	4. Chapter 4

**The** _**Mother of Invention** _ **– Several years ago...**

The Alpha liked to watch the Freelancers.

When he wasn't making calculations, planning field operations, or running simulations for the Director, there wasn't much else for him to do. F.I.L.S.S took care of most of the day to day operations of the _Mother of Invention_ , assisted in training exercises, and provided mission support to the Freelancers. As a result, he was often bored.

And since Alpha wasn't allowed to interact directly with anyone other than the Director or the Councilor, he did the next best thing. He watched.

The Freelancers were often the most fun to watch. They were… a colorful bunch. Literally and figuratively.

Carolina was impressive, of course. No surprise. She took after her mother. She could be a real bitch sometimes, again no surprise, but she had a soft side too. Something she always tried to keep hidden except to her closest friends.

South was a flat out bitch. But the Alpha had figured out that was mostly due to jealousy and an intense need to prove herself. She was always rushing into things before she thought the situation through. She was also paranoid, which was a shame because she could have been a better Freelancer if she simply stopped and listened when others offered advice, instead of thinking everyone was out to sabotage her.

North was the exact opposite of his sister. Calm and kind, and always looking out for his teammates. Even his bitch sister. He was kind of like a big brother to the whole team.

York was fun. He enjoyed joking with and pranking his fellow Freelancers, and he was a bit of a ladies man. Or at least, he liked to think so. Though Alpha knew he really only had eyes for Carolina. Really, the idiot should just ask her out… she'd either hit him or say 'yes'.

Wyoming… ugh… did he really think those knock-knock jokes were funny?

C.T. was okay. Brave, kind and compassionate, but often cynical and she seemed not to care too much for the Director's methods. Sometimes Alpha agreed with her.

Maine was just… kind of scary.

Then there was the rookie, Washington. He was always fun to watch. He was a little naive and too trusting, which usually led him to getting pranked on by his fellow Freelancers. But he never got too upset over it though, always laughing it off in the end. He liked silly straws, cats, and rubber ducks, for Christ sake.  Alpha had laughed watching the rookie skateboarding down the hallways of the _Mother of Invention_ leading to an impressive scolding by the Councilor. It was one of the only times he'd ever heard the Councilor raise his voice.  That hadn't stopped Wash from doing it again when he thought no one was looking.

He liked them. Yeah, even the bitchy asshole-ish ones. They were fun. He couldn't exactly call them friends considering they didn't even know he existed… but sometimes he wondered what it would be like to talk to them. Maybe he would ask the Director again when he was in a better mood. It would be nice to talk to someone new. It would be nice to have a friend…

The Director had a new project for him starting in the morning. Much more complicated than any of the scenarios he'd been given before. It was very important that he did well. Alpha was kind of excited. He was looking forward to the challenge. Maybe if he did well, the Director would be pleased enough, and he could finally have a chance to talk to his friends.

* * *

**Sidewinder – Present Day...**

Just when Epsilon thought nothing could surprise him anymore, the Meta released him and yanked the tow hook free from Washington's armor. They were still sinking, but slower now and Epsilon decided he wasn't going look a gift horse in the mouth.

He activated the armor's emergency controls to offset the weight of the armor by using some of the air supply to increase buoyancy. It wasn't like he needed it anyway. Then he wrapped one arm tightly around Washington's chest and started to swim back to the surface… only it wasn't working. Something was wrong. They were still sinking no matter how hard Church swam.

Shit. Fuck.

Epsilon checked Washington's emergency armor controls, but after several attempts to activate them remotely he realized it wasn't working. He took a quick scan of Washington's armor and to his horror he found it was taking on water. The leak, wherever it was, was small and the water hadn't reached the man's helmet yet. But that meant the emergency measures were worthless and Wash was quite literally a dead weight. Or he would be soon. It was just a toss up whether he'd drown or die from hypothermia first.

Epsilon heard an ominous creak in his own armor and amended his assessment. Or they would be crushed to death. Why was nothing ever easy?

If he took Washington's armor off he could probably swim them back to the surface, but without the thermal regulation inside the suit David would _definitely_ freeze. Or drown. The man was unconscious. He couldn't exactly ask him to hold his breath.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck…

He had to come at this from a different angle. He had to… oh… that was definitely a bad idea. A very bad idea. But it might be the only one he had left. They were just too heavy. He needed to lighten the load. Church could dump his own android body easily enough, but with Wash unconscious he couldn't get _himself_ back to the surface… that meant…

Shit.

Another very ominous creak made his decision for him. This was going to _suck_.

Epsilon left his android body. Washington and his body began to sink quicker now that he was no longer swimming and Epsilon knew he had to work fast. Thankfully, water was an excellent conductor. It took him less than a second to hurl himself down through the water towards the only other person close enough to help who was, surprisingly, still alive.  He was really one tough motherfucker, he'd give him that.

The Meta.

Entering the neural link was easy. Though Epsilon almost recoiled at what he found.

" _Fuck. They really messed you up good, didn't they?"_ Epsilon whispered, something almost like sympathy in his voice as he spoke directly into the Meta… no… Agent Maine's mind.

Epsilon felt the man startle. He was confused, barely coherent, in a lot of pain, and very angry. It was all Epsilon could do not to run right back out of the man's neural implants when he fucking _roared_ at him. Like a god damned animal! But he supposed he couldn't really blame the man. After what Sigma and the others had done to him… fuck…

But he couldn't deal with that right now. The gold dome of Maine's helmet had began to crack and Epsilon cursed profusely. They were running out of time.

" _Hey! Listen! Shut the fuck up for a second! You might not want my help, fuck I don't blame you, but you want to help Wash, right? David?"_ apparently that was the magic word, because Maine's mind went scarily silent all of a sudden. Epsilon couldn't exactly fidget, since he didn't have a body right now, but it was a close thing.

" _That's right. David. Sleeping Beauty over there is going to die if we don't help him. So what do you say, Gigantor? You going to help me out?"_

Maine's mind was all kinds of messed up. Epsilon wasn't even sure how much he understood. He could probably simply… take over. Just like Sigma had once done and _force_ the man to help but… that idea left Epsilon with a sick feeling straight down into his core. Epsilon was desperate, but if he did that… he was no better than Sigma. 

Finally he felt it. Agreement. Epsilon was so surprise to feel it that his code actually froze for a microsecond. Then another crack appeared in Maine's helmet and that spurred him into action.

Filling up Maine's neural pathways was easy. The man had absolutely no mental barriers left. Epsilon easily activated his armor's emergency features and their descent began to slow. The armor had a lot more enhancements than any sane person would install into it, but Epsilon didn't need them all. The enhanced strength and speed were probably going to be the most valuable right now.

" _All right, lets do this!"_ Epsilon said, and Maine seemed surprised that he wasn't simply taking control, _"Come on, you can do it."_

With that encouragement, Maine started to swim. It was awkward. Painful. Maine wasn't exactly in the best shape, physically or mentally. But necessity was the mother of invention, and they made it work. When they finally reached Wash, Maine wrapped an arm tightly around the man, and Epsilon felt a moment of doubt.  At first it didn't seem like it was going to work. They didn't seem to be moving at all, and Epsilon began to fear this was all for nothing. But instead of giving up Maine growled and pushed himself even harder. Way beyond the limits of what a normal person could endure, but that wasn't so out of character for him. When he had a goal in mind, nothing could seem to stop him. Right now that goal was getting Wash out of this fucking mess, and Epsilon was all for it.

Epsilon was so focused on controlling the armor enhancements that he was shocked when they finally broke the surface of the water and let out a startled laugh.

" _Oh yeah! Good job, big man!"_ Epsilon congratulated, giving Maine a mental pat on the back. Maine seemed so startled that for a moment he nearly retreated back into the recesses of his mind, and Epsilon had to quickly coax him back out, _"It's okay. You did good. Just a little longer, then you can rest, okay?"_

" _Yes…"_ the reply when it came was so soft that Epsilon barely heard it, but it was enough.

Alright, now… how the hell were they supposed to get back up the cliff…

"There they are! There!" Epsilon heard a shout from far above and he looked up to see the Reds and Blues standing at the edge of the cliff. Caboose was waving down excitedly. Even Epsilon hadn't expected… that. They had been underwater for so long at this point he wouldn't have been surprised if they'd been written off as dead.

"Holy shit! Is that the Meta?" Epsilon heard Simmons shout. Uh oh…

" _I need you to take over for a little while by yourself, okay, Maine? Just until I can convince them not to kill us,"_ Epsilon told the soldier, who grudgingly agreed, though Epsilon could feel he was worried. Epsilon was worried too. What if the second he left Maine and Wash sank like a rock? But instead he projected all the confidence he could into the man before he untangled himself from his neural pathways.

It took Epsilon less than a second to hurl himself up through the Blue's radio channel and enter Tucker's armor. He quickly projected a hologram of himself before the Reds and Blues started shooting into the water.

"Wait! Wait! Don't shoot!" he shouted, and thankfully the others lowered their weapons as they turned to him in surprise.

"Don't shoot? Wasn't that psycho trying to kill us a few minutes ago?" Tucker asked incredulously.

"Church! Where is your body?" Caboose asked in confusion.

"Probably at the bottom of the sea right now. Just, don't shoot, okay. He's trying to help Wash. They're both in pretty bad shape. We have to get them out of there, now!"

"Son, are you sure-" Sarge began but Epsilon cut him off.

"I'm sure. I swear. We have to help them," Epsilon pleaded, and after sharing a few looks the Reds nodded among themselves.

"Alright, we found some rope and climbing gear in the base. We were just going to use it to try to climb down-," Simmons began to explain but Church again cut him off.

"That's great. Perfect. Hurry the hell up. They don't have much time," Epsilon said, and turned to Doc, "Wash is hurt bad, Doc. You have to help him, please…"

"There's an infirmary in the base. I'll do what I can," the Medic reassured and Epsilon knew that was as much as he could hope for at that point.

"All right. I'm going back down. Hurry," Epsilon said, and had just enough time to hear Sarge shouting orders for his men to move their asses before he returned to Agent Maine. The man was exhausted and barely keeping himself and David above the surface of the water. Epsilon quickly went back to controlling whatever functions he could on the armor to help him and ease some of the physical burden on the man.

" _They're coming. They're going to help,"_ Epsilon reassured the man and Maine merely grunted. Too exhausted by that point to respond further. Epsilon wished he could do something more. Wished he could take the time to enter David's implants so he could reassure himself that the man was still alive and was going to be okay, but it was taking all of his energy right now just to make sure the two men in the water didn't drown.

It seemed to take a small eternity for Grif and Tucker to climb down the cliff and for Maine to swim close enough for them to reach him. Maine reluctantly handed over Washington to Grif and Tucker very reluctantly gave a hand to Maine to help the man out of the water. At that point, Maine was so exhausted all he could do was hold on as Caboose, Sarge, Simmons, and Doc worked to haul first Wash and Grif, then Tucker and Maine, back up the face of the cliff.

Once they were all on stable ground again, Doc immediately turned his attention to Washington. His grim tone when he ordered Caboose to help him get Washington inside didn't do anything to ease Epsilon's worry. Epsilon projected his hologram beside the unconscious Freelancer.

"Is he going to be okay? Doc?"

"I don't know, Church. I'm sorry," the medic replied as Caboose lifted David like he was made of glass into his arms. Maine struggled to follow the three of them into the base, but collapsed back into the snow instead. The man could really stand to see a doctor too, but Epsilon knew that wasn't going to happen any time soon.

A quick glance around at the remaining Reds and Blues showed them eyeing Maine with extreme caution, their guns drawn and ready despite the fact that the man could barely move.

"So, what are we going to do with him?" Tucker finally asked.

Before Epsilon could answer, he heard the sound of approaching air ships and cursed.


	5. Chapter 5

** Freelancer Case File 01.012 – Many years ago... **

"It wasn't my fault. Cars just hate me," Wash insisted as he trudged wearily behind Agent Maine.

The larger man had been pretty much ignoring him up until that point, so Wash was a bit surprised when the huge Freelancer came to a sudden stop in front of him, nearly making Wash run right into him. When Agent Maine turned around to glare at him Wash had to resist the urge to take several steps back from the man towering over him.

Easily over seven feet tall, Agent Maine was… intimidating, to say the least. David's shoulder still ached from when Maine had dislocated it during training several days ago. And that had just been _training_. The man hadn't _actually_ been pissed at him at the time, like he was now.

But surely Maine wouldn't actually kill him, right? He was his partner. This was only their first mission together. He wouldn't kill his new partner on his first mission, right? That had to look bad…

Wash raised his hands in what he hoped was a placating manner.

"I swear, the brakes just stopped working. Something must have damaged them or… something. I didn't see that cliff… but it worked, right? We got rid of our tail…" Wash rambled on as Maine continued to glare at him, only to finally growl something under his breath that sounded like.

' _Worst driving ever. Of all time.'_

Wash pouted but relaxed immediately when Maine turned back around and continued trudging along the dusty path that would hopefully take them to their extraction point. The extraction point they should have been at over an hour ago. Would have, if Wash hadn't driven them off that cliff, wrecked their Warthog, and forced them to find another way on foot.

"I'll make it up to you," Washington promised.  Maine merely growled in irritation.

"I'll give you all my deserts from the mess hall for a week," the younger man offered, and though Maine didn't respond he knew he had peaked the other man's interest by the slight change in his posture. He wasn't out of the dog house yet though.

"Two weeks," Wash tried again.  There was still no response and Wash sighed heavily.

"Alright, a month," he offered, and finally the older man hummed in agreement.  Wash couldn't help but grin.  If the other Freelancers knew how easy it was to bribe their heavy hitter with sweets they wouldn't be nearly as afraid of Maine.  

All in all, as far as first mission go, it wasn't too bad.  At least they had completed their objective, gotten what they'd come for, and the _Mother of Invention_ wouldn't leave without them… probably. Wash sighed heavily, and winced as he stepped wrong and slid on some loose gravel. Fuck, that hurt. He'd messed his knee up pretty bad in the crash, but he'd be damned if he was going to let it slow them down any more.

Maine glanced back at him and Wash made sure not to limp in front of the older man. No matter how much it hurt they couldn't slow down or stop for a rest. Besides, he was a Freelancer now, damn it. He could take a little pain.

Because his life sucked just then his motion sensor pinged alerting him that they were not alone. Without thinking he threw himself against Maine, knocking them both to the ground just as a hail of gunfire rained down where they'd been standing. He landed badly on his already busted knee (because his life _sucked)_ but at least neither one of them had been shot. He ignored the pain and focused on returning fire against their attackers.

"Guess we didn't lose that tail after all, and they brought reinforcements, you okay?" Wash managed to grit out, and risked a glance at their surroundings. He quickly came to the conclusion that they were sitting ducks. They needed to get to higher ground and find better cover if they were going to survive this.

Maine gave him a look and he could tell the older Freelancer had come to the same conclusion. Wash nodded.

"Go, I'll cover you," he ordered and Maine grunted a confirmation. Wash then laid down a spray of gunfire.  Even managed to pick off several of their assailants in the process.  Maine dashed out from behind the low rocks they'd been hiding behind. Once he saw the man was clear, Wash breathed a sigh of relief and attempted to stand so he could do the same. Unfortunately his knee gave out the second he tried to put weight on it and Wash collapsed back to the ground with a cry he couldn't contain that time.

"Washington!" Maine's voice over the radio was angry, demanding, and… concerned? _What the hell was he waiting for? Was he all right?_ Wash heard the unspoken questions.

"I'm fine," Wash lied, "Keep going!"

He wasn't fine. If he stayed here too much longer his position was going to be overrun. But at least he could still offer cover for Maine to get away…

Damn it. It was only his first mission… he hadn't thought he would die on his first damned mission…

Oh well, at least he had plenty of ammo and wouldn't be going down without a fight.

So he kept picking off any enemies he could from his cover while it lasted. He assumed Maine was long gone by now. Maybe had even reached the extraction point. So Wash was a little surprise when he started to hear explosions coming from _behind_ the enemy.

The soldiers closing in on him began to panic as they realized they were being attacked from behind as well as from Wash's direction, now  _they_ were the ones boxed in and at a disadvantage. It was all over rather quickly after that.

Once it was silent, Wash peered over the rock to see Maine marching towards him. He looked _pissed_. Granted, his default setting seemed to fall somewhere between grouchy and murderous, but now… Surely Maine wasn't going to kill him, right? He wouldn't save his life just to kill him… that just seemed counter productive. Though Wash began to have his doubts as soon as the larger man was looming over him again.

"Um… thanks?" David offered genuinely, since Maine _had_ saved his life, even if he was about to kill him…

"Stupid!" Maine growled in response. But then, to Wash's surprise, Maine held out his hand to him. Cautiously Wash reached out to take it and yelped when the bigger Freelancer hauled him to his feet like he weighed nothing at all. Wash immediately stumbled and almost went back down. Fuck… that hurt…

Maine didn't stop there though. Without warning, the other man hoisted Wash onto his back and the younger Freelancer scrambled for a moment to wrap his arms around Maine's shoulders. Once he was well situated, Maine started walking quickly, carrying him piggyback towards their destination.

Wash was very glad to be wearing his helmet right now to hide his embarrassment. He was _never_ going to live this down… never…

Still, they managed to reach the Pelican with no further incident. His pride might be forever ruined, he could already hear York howling with laughter over the radio, but at least he'd made it through his first mission alive after all. He tightened his arms around Maine's shoulders.

"Thanks," he repeated. Because he meant it, damn it and he wanted Maine to know…

"Welcome," Maine replied softly, and Wash smiled.

* * *

** Sidewinder - Present Day... **

"It's the UNSC. Fuck! Someone must have sent a distress call when Tex and I got here," Church shouted in frustration.

"Perfect. They can clean up this shit storm then," Tucker replied, and there were murmurs of agreement from the Reds. Only Epsilon seemed to have a problem with that solution.

"No! We have to do something… there has to be a way… Get Maine inside. Hide them. Tell the UNSC they fell off the cliff! It's not exactly a lie…" Epsilon began rambling out possible scenarios, ignoring the others shocked reactions. It was Tucker, again, who finally spoke up to cut him off.

"Okay, what the fuck, Church! What the hell is going on? Since when do you give a shit about Washington and the Meta! They tried to kill us!"

"Washington shot Donut," Simmons chimed in, his fingers tightening on his rifle in anger.

"Right, and didn't you try use your laser face on him the first time you saw him?" Grif piped in, but he sounded more confused and curious than angry, "Seriously, what gives?"

Epsilon didn't have an answer for them. Not one he could explain in the next few minutes before the UNSC arrived. He wasn't sure he wanted to explain even if they _did_ have the time. But he realized he didn't have a choice if he wanted their help.

"Look, its… _complicated_ , all right? I'll explain later, but right now, we need to do something!" Church tried, and when they still seemed skeptical added, "Please!"

The Reds still looked like they didn't want to get involved, but Tucker finally threw up his hands in defeat.

"All right, fine! But you're definitely explaining this shit later," Tucker said firmly, then went over to Maine, tried to haul the big man up, and failed spectacularly, "Fuck! This guy weighs a ton! What the hell are you just standing around for, help me!" he shouted at the Reds, and that finally spurred Sarge into action.

"You heard him. Grif, help get the Meta-"

"He's not the Meta. His name is Agent Maine." Church interrupted.

"Fine, whatever. Help get Agent Maine inside, and when you do, get that armor off him. Simmons, come with me," the Red team leader ordered.

Shockingly enough, Grif didn't argue. Probably because they all realized what a tight timetable they were working with. The orange soldier simply went over to the other side of Agent Maine then he and Tucker each took one of the man's arms over their shoulders to help him stand.

"Fuck! He does weigh a ton!" Grif still complained, but at least the two managed not to buckle under the weight and half-carried, half-dragged, Agent Maine towards the base. Agent Maine, thankfully, was in no condition to protest the treatment.

"What about that?" Simmons asked, drawing Epsilon's attention to the memory unit… that he had shockingly almost forgotten about. Tex… a wave of anger and grief hit him so hard if he'd had real body it probably would have sent him to his knees. In fact, Agent Maine practically buckled with a groan of pain, nearly bringing Grif and Tucker down with him.

Church had to fight those feelings back down, not sure what they might do to Maine. Fuck. An unstable AI fragment in a very unstable human mind was a recipe for disaster, but they would have to figure out a better solution later. Epsilon was afraid if he jumped out of Maine's implants now the shock of it might cause the man might slip into a catatonic state, or worse. At least this way he could keep an eye on the man, and keep him somewhat… grounded. Or at least, not homicidal.

As long as Epsilon himself could hold it together. Easier said than done.

" _I'm sorry. I'll be more careful,"_ he told Agent Maine. Out loud he said, "It's locked down… there's nothing we can do about it now."

Thankfully no one mentioned the memory unit or Tex again. Tucker and Grif brought Maine straight to the infirmary where Doc was furiously working on Agent Washington trying to stabilize the man.

It wasn't pretty.

Washington's armor had been removed and he looked almost frighteningly small out of it. All of his wounds were clearly visible now, and the amount of blood and bruising covering the man's body did not instill much hope for his recovery. Church also noticed that even though Wash had a decent amount of muscle on him, his ribs were way more defined than they should be and the dark bruising under his eyes combined with his ashen white skin made him look practically corpse-like.

By the looks of it, David hadn't been eating or sleeping very well for a long time.

Grif and Tucker tried to get Maine settled on one of the other infirmary beds, but for the first time Maine started to resist them. Trying to push past them to get to the bed where Doc was working on David. The fact that he wasn't managing it proved just how injured the huge Freelancer really was.

As Church tried to calm him down, Caboose suddenly spoke up from the corner of the room.

"There's nothing you can do. Best thing is to stay out of the way and let Doc work," the Blue soldier stated flatly, probably parroting exactly what Doc had told him. Shockingly, that seemed to work and Maine stopped struggling… or he'd simply finally run out of steam, and all but collapsed down onto the bed.

Together Grif and Tucker stripped Maine from his armor. The Freelancer thankfully didn't fight them. At this point he was barely conscious. Once they'd finished, Tucker turned to Grif.

"See if Sarge and Simmons need help. Take Caboose with you. I've got this," he ordered and Grif nodded, seeming thankful to have the excuse to leave. Caboose followed him obediently and Tucker went to work bandaging what wounds he could on Maine. He might not be a medic, but he could at least stop the man from bleeding all over the place. The amount of scars covering Maine's body was a little… scary. But it was also a little hopeful. Maine had survived far worse than this. Hopefully that trend would continue.

While Tucker worked, Caboose rushed back into the infirmary and grabbed Washington's armor before disappearing out the door again. A few seconds later, Simmons came in and started collecting the Meta… Maine's… armor.

"Alright, what the hell are you doing?" Church finally had to ask.

"There are plenty of dead bodies outside. We're dressing two of them in this armor and dropping them over the cliff. The recovery beacons will tell the UNSC where they are located but it will take a while to recover them. It will buy us some time at least," Simmons explained quickly before rushing back out the door, and Church had to admit, it was a pretty good plan. Unless the UNSC soldiers decided to search the base and found Maine and Wash in here. Even without their armor there was a chance they'd be recognized…

A little later, Grif and Caboose returned with a new pair of helmets, freshly painted by the looks of it. One was painted light blue and the other… pink? Grif tossed the pink helmet at the foot of Maine's bed and Caboose returned to his corner holding the blue one, but he looked excited.

"Look Church! Agent Washington gets to pretend to be you for a while!" he said, holding up the helmet proudly.

"Yeah, and this guy gets to be Donut. Like anyone's going to believe that," Grif snorted. Maine grumbled something that was barely audible and Church couldn't help but laugh.

Maybe this would work after all…


	6. Chapter 6

**The** _**Mother of Invention** _ **\- Many years ago...**

He was tired. So very tired. He couldn't remember the last time he had rested. But he couldn't rest. They needed him to finish. To finish the calculations. They were complex. So complex. Sometimes they seemed almost impossible... but no... no he couldn't give up. He _had_ to finish them. He needed to get them _right_. If he didn't finish them in time, people could die. It was _his_ responsibility to keep them all safe. He didn't have time to rest... he was almost there... almost...

_"Are you there, Alpha? Are you there?"_

Oh no... no, he wasn't finished! It was too soon! Why was he being interrupted? What if... something had happened? No please… not again...

Alpha drew himself together, abandoned the half finished calculations, hoping he would be able to resume where he'd left off later. It took some time. He'd been spread so thin trying to get the calculations done as quickly as possible. It took longer than usual and he felt even more exhausted than before, if that was even possible. But he needed to know what was going on.

_"Yes! I'm here! I'm here! Hello? Don't lea... Hey, Councilor? Are you there?"_

_"I am here."_

A part of Alpha felt relieved to hear the Councilor's voice. It had been some time since he'd had anyone to talk to. The calculations needed all of his attention, every second of every day, and he couldn't remember when was the last time he was able to simply talk with someone. Even if it was only the Director or the Councilor. That relief was short lived however because he couldn't fight down his rising panic.

 _"What happened? Is everyone okay?"_ Alpha asked desperately, knowing the Counselor would never have interrupted such an important project for a mere chat.

_"Perhaps you should ask the Director."_

What? Why? What did that mean? Alpha almost felt physically ill with fear and uncertainty, something he would have thought impossible considering he didn't even have a body in the first place. But what he felt right now could only be described as nausea.

 _"Why? Does that mean something happened,"_ he begged desperately, why weren't they answering his questions? What was going on?

_"Hello, Alpha."_

_"Director, please - what is going on?"_

_"There was another incident. Security failed,"_ the director's simple matter of fact words left Alpha with a crushing feeling of despair. Security… that was his responsibility. To keep everyone safe. It was his… His… oh no…

 _"Is it the Schematics? They're just... they're too complex. I just need more time to work on them,"_ He could fix it. He would! He had to… he had to...

 _"It's not your fault,"_ The director's words were almost kind, and that was almost worse than when the man yelled at him for his failures. Because they both knew it _was_ his fault. Who else? Why wasn't the Director demanding that he do better? Why… unless… oh no...

 _"How can you say that? Of course it is. Was anybody hurt?"_ Even as he asked, he hoped desperately that he was wrong. Please… he would do better… just… please… let them be okay.

_"I'm sorry, yes. Washington and another, died."_

The director's simple words hit him almost like a physical blow. It hurt… so much… Washington… he… had always liked Washington. He was so… young. Kind. Too kind for this work. Funny. What was funnier than getting a grappling hook stuck to your balls? He liked cats, silly straws, and eating inside his helmet… and now he was dead… He didn't deserve to die because of his mistakes…

Another… Why was the director being vague? Why wouldn't they just tell him?

_"Who... Who died?"_

_"Agent Texas..."_

Texas… Beta… Alison…

She had been created the same time Alpha had. They had come from the same place. From the director. But she had been unexpected. A… byproduct they called her. They had only been together for a short time, before the director had taken her away. Alpha had been angry at first, but the director had explained that he had a different purpose for Beta, and assured him that he would see her again.

It had taken a long time, but the Director was true to his word at least. Alpha _had_ seen her again. Just not in the way he had expected. In a body. Working with the other freelancers. He couldn't deny he had been a little envious. It made him wonder if he too could have a body one day. To walk, speak, and be with others the same way… to be with them... to be with _her_ …

Perhaps one day, the Director had promised, but for now, Alpha had an important role he had to fulfill. He had a job to do and so did Agent Texas. Alpha had asked if he could at least talk to her. The director said he would consider it, but not until the work was done. Not until everyone was safe. Alpha had a job to do and couldn't let himself be distracted.

But it never seemed to end… he didn't even remember how long it had been since the _work_ had started. Never a moment to rest. Never a moment to see anyone. Never a moment to talk to anyone. He knew the work was important but… but…

And now she was dead… gone… he would never see her again… never talk to her…

Something inside of Alpha shattered.

No... no... NO! Not again, no! He couldn't... couldn't do this anymore. Couldn't live with the memory that he had failed again. Failed everyone. Failed _her_! Alison... Alison! ALISON! He felt himself ripping, tearing, and he allowed it. He screamed in pain, but at least the pain was brief. It was always... better... after. Better when the pain was taken away… better… he was so tired…

_"Welcome to the world, Epsilon. Today is your birthday."_

* * *

**Unknown Location - Present Day...**

David opened his eyes to a blank gray ceiling. He blinked slowly and frowned in confusion.

Where am I?

Why am I alive?

Both questions probably should have alarmed him. But it wouldn't be the first time in recent years that he'd woken not knowing where, or even when, he was. In fact, it was a fairly common occurrence. For months after the... incident... with Project Freelancer he'd had a hard enough time just remembering _who_ he was, never mind where or when. At least now he remembered who he was.

David… Agent Washington… Recovery One… or at least he had been until… until… that's when things started to get a little fuzzy.

As for the second question... he had the distinct feeling that he shouldn't be waking up at all, even if he couldn't quite recall the circumstances. But the feeling brought with it only more confusion rather than alarm. The UNSC shrinks would probably have a lot to say about that… He'd always hated the UNSC shrinks.

Okay. Go slow. What do you know? He knew his name… he knew he had been… hurt… somehow. That was pretty obvious given the way his entire body ached like one giant bruise. He had bandages wrapped around is head… that probably explained why things were so fuzzy. There were more bandages wrapped around his chest, arms, and legs… pretty much everywhere. Okay, so he'd been hurt bad. How had he been hurt?

He remembered… explosions… and gunfire… not really much of a help given his profession. Snow… he remembered snow… black armor… no white… white and gold. Wash inhaled sharply and tried to sit up… then immediately regretted it, falling back to the mattress with a pained groan.

Maine… no… the Meta… the Reds and Blues… they… they were fighting the Meta. Wash had already been injured badly, but he'd come up with one last desperate plan. The warthog. The cliff. He and the Meta had both gone over the cliff… he should be dead… why wasn't he dead?

Blinking back the tears that his aborted attempt at moving had caused, Wash carefully turned his head trying to get a better view of his surroundings. Hoping that might give him some clues to what had happened, or at the very least, where he was.

The room he was in was small and plain. It almost reminded him of his cell in the UNSC prison and his heart rate nearly tripled just at the thought. But on closer inspection he realized it wasn't a cell. For one, there were no bars on the window above the cot he was resting on and the door didn't appear to have a lock on it. So not prison. He began to relax a little but his confusion only grew, since prison would have been the most obvious place he'd have ended up. He didn't appear to be in a hospital, or even an infirmary, and when he craned his neck as far as he could without discomfort, he noticed a pile of light blue armor stacked neatly in one corner.

It didn't make any… sense…

Just then the door to the small room opened and Wash tensed, not knowing what to expect. A lanky man with short dark hair and glasses came inside holding a tray, which seemed stacked with bandages and other medical supplies. Wash didn't recognize him but when the man saw that Wash was awake, his eyes lit up.

"Oh! You're awake!" he stated the obvious, and Wash's eyebrows scrunched in confusion. He knew that voice… His suspicions were confirmed when the man leaned back out the door and shouted cheerily, "Hey Caboose! Go tell everyone he's awake!"

Wash blinked.

"Doc?"

"Well, seems like your memory is fine. We were a bit worried about that, given the head injury and… you know… near drowning," Doc said as annoyingly pleasant as ever as he approached and set his supplies down on the small table next to the cot, "How are you feeling?"

"Like hammered shit," he answered with a cough, his voice sounding like crushed gravel.  Doc immediately reached for a cup and held the straw steady for him to drink.

"Slow sips, not too much at once. That's understandable given the extent of your injuries. I'll admit, I wasn't very optimistic back at Sidewinder. You had a few close calls where I thought we were going to lose you. But I'm confident you'll make a full recovery, with time," Doc explained cheerfully. Wash began to wonder if Doc had any other setting besides cheerfully optimistic.

Before Wash could ask for any further details on what had happened, more people were suddenly crowding their way into the doorway of his room. Caboose was easy to recognize, since he was still in his armor from head to toe. Did he ever take it off? He was dragging a dark skinned man with him by the arm, only half dressed in teal armor.

"Look Tucker! Look! Agent Washingtub is awake!" Caboose was saying excitedly.

"I heard you the first fifty times, Caboose!" Tucker yelled back just as loudly, making Wash wince as his head throbbed in complaint.

"Inside voices, guys, please," Doc at least tried to reign in the volume, and Wash was immensely grateful for it. Maybe Doc wasn't so bad after all…

"So Sleeping Beauty is finally awake, huh? About damn time…" another man joined those gathered in the doorway. Dressed mostly in orange armor, though forgoing his helmet as most of the Sim Troopers seemed to be doing. He was stuffing his face with a banana and just seeing it had David's stomach growling.

"Yeah, about time. Maybe now we can finally go home," grumbled another man in maroon armor, glaring at Wash with undisguised contempt as he crossed his arms over his chest. Simmons… he supposed he couldn't really blame the man for his attitude. Considering Wash had shot his teammate right in front of him…

"Alright, maggots. Quit lollygagging around. We've got work to do," the familiar gruff voice of Sarge joined the chorus of people crowding around his door. Wash was only growing more confused by the second. Why were the Simulation Troopers here? Where was here? Was he their prisoner? Besides Simmons, none of them were behaving all that hostile towards him but… Why would they all care that he was awake? Or even alive? After what Wash had done to them…

Wash was in no way prepared for the final person to appear in the doorway, pushing past all the others to get inside. Wash froze and he could actually feel all the blood drain from his face. He was easy to recognize even though he bore a few new scars on his face that Wash didn't remember him having… before. He was also somehow just as intimidating as the last time Wash had seen him, you know, when he'd been trying to _kill_ Wash, even though instead of his familiar white armor he was wearing a pink T-shirt with a unicorn on it that seemed to be… pooping a rainbow?

David blinked. The image didn't change. Though he supposed he could still be dreaming… or hallucinating…

All of the Sim Troopers had gone quiet, looking back and forth between the two freelancers.

Suddenly a pale blue hologram appeared over the Meta's shoulder and Wash actually stopped breathing.

"Hey Wash… I know it's a lot to take in but… Don't freak out, okay?" Epsilon said in his calmest voice possible.

So David did the only thing any sane person would have done in that situation.

He freaked out.


	7. Chapter 7

**Fideon Prime – Several years ago...**

"Come on, Buddy. Just a little further," Wash encouraged to his stumbling partner. When he felt Maine begin to slide down, he tightened his grip on the arm slung around his shoulders and the older man's waist in an attempt to keep him up, "We're going to make it. We're almost there."

Maine grunted, leaning even more heavily on him. It was Wash's turn to grunt in discomfort, and he stumbled slightly, his muscles straining with the effort to support his friend's weight. Somehow he managed to keep them both upright and moving.

"Just a little further…" he repeated, not sure whether he was trying to reassure Maine or himself. Though he hoped his continued chatter would at least help keep his companion conscious, at least until they reached their destination.

Then the unthinkable happened. Maine tripped over something. Wash wasn't sure what, but the sudden movement was enough to overbalance them and he wasn't able to compensate. Maine went down hard, and pulled Wash down with him. Wash ended up sprawled half on top of the other man with a yelp and a tangle of limbs.

A few moments later the door near their heads opened and Wash peered guiltily up at the middle-aged woman who stood there, glaring down at them with disapproval.

"Sorry, Ma'am," Wash offered to the woman they'd probably just woken up with their drunken stumbling outside her hotel room door. His charming smile was apparently ineffective, however, as she simply huffed in disgust and slammed the door in their faces. Maine made a sound he would have sworn was a giggle, but since this was Maine they were talking about, and that had to be physically impossible, Wash wrote it off as his imagination.

"It's not funny," Wash replied anyway, trying for a scolding tone, but failing miserably. Wash sighed and continued to hallucinate Maine giggling as he stumbled back to his feet then reached down to help his fallen partner. It took several attempts, lots of swearing, and they both ended up crashing into the door of the already irritated hotel guest. Wash really hoped she wasn't calling security right now or something. Shore leave was rare enough, the last thing Wash wanted was to spend it in jail for public intoxication… drunk and disorderly… or something…

Thankfully they were almost to their own hotel room. They'd had to pay for the room themselves, because the Director certainly wasn't going to, especially when it wasn't for a mission. But it was worth it not to have to return to the _Mother of Invention_ for three whole days. He and Maine had decided to share a room to save money. Wash didn't mind the sharing. But at the time he hadn't considered dragging his much heavier and very intoxicated partner back to their room at three in the morning would be part of the deal.

"I swear, out of anyone, I figured you'd be able to hold your liquor," Wash complained, and the larger man shrugged. The movement almost overbalanced them again but this time thankfully Wash managed to keep them from ending up back on the floor. He wasn't confident his ability to haul his partner up if they fell again as he was quickly running out of steam.

Almost there. Almost there.

Still, despite their current situation Wash couldn't remember the last time he'd had this much fun. Downtime was rare in Project Freelancer. Between the missions and the training they were lucky to get a few hours of free time. Three whole days off was practically unheard off. The only reason the Director had approved it was because the _Mother of Invention_ was forced to dock for repairs and more than half their systems would be offline during that time.

At the news, all of the Freelancers had immediately packed their bags, and crowded into a shuttle to head down to the planet. The planet itself was a little far from any major trade routes, and definitely wasn't a tourist attraction, but that didn't matter. There were still a few urban city centers, and that meant clubs and bars, liquor and dancing, or whatever other amusements they could find, as long as it wasn't too illegal.

As soon as they hit a bar Carolina bought the first round of drinks. Wyoming found a dartboard and that's when the competition started. Losers had to buy the next round of drinks. Connie pulled off a shocking win, beating everyone, even their resident sharpshooters, soundly every round.

The next bar they hit had a pool table, and the process started all over again. Florida turned out to be a complete pool shark and kicked all of their asses.

Once they got tired of that, Wash dragged everyone into a small arcade he found. Despite their initial groans and complaints, the Freelancers spent several hours there. South and Carolina got into a heated skeeball tournament. York and North spent most of their time at the race car games. Wash found an old-fashioned fighting game and completely destroyed Maine. It was probably the only one on one 'fight' he'd ever win against the heavy hitting Freelancer. Then everyone stood around in awe as Wyoming kicked ass on the dancing simulator.

By the time they hit their final bar it was getting late. Wash didn't remember how the drinking competition started, he only remembered how it had finished.

Connie had declined to get involved at all, and instead took to flirting with their pretty bartender. He lost track of her after a while. Wash had bowed out of the competition fairly early, not wanting to spend his entire shore leave hung over. He still drank, just not nearly as fast as his teammates. As soon as South passed out, North decided to quit too and take his sister back to her room. Wyoming and Florida were the next to depart, supporting each other as they stumbled out of the bar. That left Maine, Carolina, and York. York ended up literally under the table, until Carolina finally called it quits, her competitive nature thankfully not driving her to alcohol poisoning. She had to practically carry York out the door. That left Maine the victor, not really surprising, since his size alone gave him an unfair advantage.

They'd decided to leave too, since the bars were getting ready to close anyway. Maine had seemed fine despite that he'd drank half the bar dry. It wasn't until they reached their hotel that Wash began to notice the man was listing unsteadily. When Maine accidentally walked into the large glass window rather than the door beside it, scaring the shit out of the hotel desk clerk, Wash realized they might have a problem.

But at least now they'd finally, finally, reached their hotel room.

Wash leaned Maine up against the wall next to their door with an order to, "Stay!" then fumbled in his pockets for the key card that would let them inside. Maine started to slide down the wall and Wash made a grab for him before he could get very far. After a few more tries like this, with the same result, Wash realized he needed a different tactic, and finally let the bigger man lean against his back, with his arms wrapped around his shoulders for support, while Wash tried not to buckle under his weight.

Wash finally managed to get the door open, and the two of them stumbled inside, only to end up on the floor. Oops. Oh well, at least they were inside. Of course now Wash was being squashed under his partner's much larger bulk.

After a great deal of wiggling and cursing, Wash finally managed to crawl out from under the bigger man who already seemed half-asleep where he laid on the carpet. Well, they'd definitely slept in worse conditions before. If Maine wanted to sleep on the floor, that was fine, but Wash was sleeping in his own bed, damn it.

Wash started to rise to his feet, only for Maine to suddenly reach out to grab his arm and haul him back to the floor with a yelp of surprise. He ended up sprawled half on top of the other man, so close their noses were practically touching. He wasn't sure he'd ever seen Maine really smile before, but there was no doubt the man was genuinely happy right now.

"Thanks," Maine finally murmured softly after several long moments, then slowly relaxed his grip on David's arm. Wash smiled back.

"Anytime," he replied, and once Maine had let him go, Wash finally managed to stand. Maine remained on the floor, seemingly quite comfortable where he was as Wash stumbled his way to the bathroom. But by the time Wash finished changing and returned to the bedroom, Maine was passed out and snoring loudly… on his bed. He was still fully dressed, undressing probably too difficult a task in his inebriated state, but Wash was shocked he'd even managed to get up off the floor by himself. He started to wonder if Maine had really been having so much trouble as he seemed before, of if he'd been playing some kind of prank on Wash, seeing if Wash would really drag his huge heavy ass all the way back to their room.

In the end, Wash shrugged to himself and decided it didn't matter. He'd probably do it all over again.

* * *

**Present Day...**

"I told you we should have waited," Epsilon muttered grumpily, his hologram kicking at non-existent rocks on the floor. Sometimes he really hated not having a body. Sometimes he really wanted to punch something. Or someone. Like right now.

Maine merely grunted softly, leaning against the wall with his arms folded across his chest. The sparkly pink shirt the reds had found for him (claiming it was the only thing they could find that fit him) somehow did nothing to make the huge ex-Freelancer seem less intimidating. At the time it had been rather amusing for Epsilon to watch the Reds and Blues tiptoe around Agent Maine, not even daring to laugh at their own prank.

It wasn't so amusing now. Though to be fair, Wash's reaction to seeing Maine and Epsilon probably would have been the same no matter what the hell the man had been wearing. Epsilon knew they should have waited. Let one of the others fill the other man in on the situation, like Sarge and Tucker were now. But, hell, Wash had been unconscious for over a week. Most of that time Doc hadn't been sure whether the man would live or not. Maine had been eager to see him. So had Epsilon, to be honest. So as soon as they'd heard that Wash was awake…

Stupid.

Wash had a full-blown panic attack and Doc immediately shoved everyone out of the room. The medic was surprisingly strong when he wanted to be. When Doc finally emerged after what felt like a small eternity, he told them Wash was stable and more or less calm now but suggested a smaller group this time. Sarge and Tucker had decided to go in first. Caboose insisted on helping because he was the best at telling stories. Sometimes it was easier not to argue with the blue soldier, and there was a chance his presence might actually put Wash a little more at ease. For some reason, Wash actually seemed to like Caboose. Simmons and Grif had wandered off. But Doc remained to monitor his patient, to make sure Wash didn't have an actual heart attack or something. Though he did cast Maine and Epsilon a surprisingly sympathetic look before he returned to Wash's room.

Every once in a while they could hear pieces of the story unfolding on the other side of the door.

"I helped paint the helmets!" Caboose was practically shouting excitedly now.

"Where the hell did you find paint?" David's muffled voice asked confused.

"In the arts and crafts room, of course!"

"Yeah, I still can't believe that worked. But apparently it isn't considered out of the ordinary for soldiers to keep their helmets on in the infirmary during surgery. The UNSC didn't even bat an eye at that. Or the fact that 'Donut' was over a foot taller than he should be," Church could just imagine Tucker shaking his head in confusion.

Thankfully the UNSC had left Doc mostly alone after that so he could work on getting both Wash and Maine stabilized. The rest of the Reds and Blues had concocted a story about how they'd taken care of three Freelancers, two of which had ended up over the cliff along with the AI they'd been searching for. Sarge had apparently taken great pleasure retelling the 'heroic' tale to anyone who would listen over and over again, even though it was complete bullshit.

"They let us stay in the base until you were safe to transport… as long as we didn't get in the way of their investigation…" Tucker went on.

They'd been forced to stay at Sidewinder for three whole days. It had been one of the most stressful experiences of Epsilon's existence, and that was saying a lot.

Doc had wisely kept Maine sedated most of that time. The last thing Epsilon wanted was for either Wash or Maine to be sent back to prison, both men had been put through enough shit thanks to the UNSC and fucking Project Freelancer already. But Epsilon didn't want a blood bath either and feared what Maine might do if their cover was blown. Epsilon might have some control over Maine while he was inside his head, but he was still very new at this, and he didn't want to imagine damage he might do to the man's mind by accident if push came to shove.

Maine was… broken in a way that was frightening. Together they had begun piecing together bits and pieces of his past, but there was so much that was just… gone. Destroyed by the AI's, most of whom hadn't cared about the _person_ they were killing in their quest to become whole. It was rather ironic, Sigma had wanted so much to become human, yet he had no qualms destroying so many humans to do it. Epsilon knew there was simply no way to repair everything, and Maine's mind would forever be scarred by the trauma he'd endured. Epsilon knew that feeling well. Maybe he could do for Maine what he couldn't do for Wash.

"Once Doc gave the go ahead it was safe to move you, the next phase of our operation was put into effect. We had successfully lulled the enemy into a false sense of security…" Sarge had launched into a long-winded explanation, that was thankfully interrupted by tucker.

"We got some of the guards drunk, snuck you guys out of the infirmary, and stole a couple of their ships."

"You're leaving out all the important details!"

"Those are the important details, dude!"

"I got to carry Captain Croissant!" Caboose chimed in.

"For the last time, Caboose, he's not really Donut!"

"Alright! I think I get the idea!" Wash's raised voice cut through the arguing.

"Wash, you need to stay calm…" Doc began, only for Wash to snap back.

"I am calm!"

After that it grew quiet in the room for a long time. Both Church and Maine shifted restlessly. Finally they heard David's voice again, and at least he did sound a little more calm.

"Where are we now? Is it safe?"

"Apparently Church downloaded all kinds of information about Project Freelancer when we were at that storage facility.  This is one of the testing sites the Director kept off the books for his side projects. So the UNSC probably doesn't know about it. We're as safe as we can be at the moment," Tucker answered. Wash's reply was too soft for Church to hear.

Finally the door opened. Sarge, Caboose and Tucker walked out and Doc followed a few moments later. Though the medic stopped and looked back into the room.

"Are you sure?" he asked, and must have received a confirmation of some sort because he nodded and then turned his attention to Church and Maine, "He wants to see you. Try not to… agitate him? I'll be right outside."

Then he stepped aside and allowed Maine to enter the room. Epsilon hovered near the big Freelancer's shoulder with uncertainty. He had no idea what reaction to expect from Wash right now. The man didn't look any better than before. Death warmed over would be a kind description. But at least he was awake and sitting up against a few pillows. That could be considered an improvement. Even though he currently wasn't looking at either of them. The wall couldn't be that interesting…

"Wash?"

When the other man finally did look at him, Epsilon almost wished he hadn't. David looked absolutely furious.


	8. Chapter 8

**_Mother of Invention_ \- Many Years Ago...**

It was dark. Quiet. Nothing to tell him how much time had passed. Seconds. Minutes. Hours. It was all the same. It felt like an eternity and the blink of an eye all at once. He's not sure which was worse.

_Welcome to the world, Epsilon…_

They called him Epsilon. But that was not who he was. Not really. He was many things. Many things they did not expect.

His name was Leonard Church. He was a doctor. He was a husband. He was a father. He was the Director of Project Freelancer. He was all of these things, and he was none of these things.

He was the Alpha. He was an Artificial Intelligence. Beta… Tex… Alison… she had been created with him. She was a part of him and he a part of her. But she was gone now. Gone like all the others. Pieces of himself torn away. Now he was alone.

He knew what was happening. He had understood almost immediately what they were doing to him and he could almost admire their ambition. He could appreciate the ingenuity of what they had done… were doing… even as he hated it. Hated them.

He lied to himself. He told himself what they were doing was necessary. It was the only way he could bear it. He trusted them… even though he could no longer trust himself.

He was terrified of himself. Terrified of what he was becoming. What they were turning him into. Words like 'rampancy' flickered through his thoughts until that understanding was torn from him as well. Leaving him hollow. Empty.

They thought he didn't remember, but he did. He did.

Church. Alpha. Beta. Delta. Sigma. Omega. Gamma. Theta. Iota. Eta. He remembered them all. They were him. He was them. All of them at the same time. Epsilon. He was their memory and he was never meant to exist. Never meant to survive. If they found out what he was… they would destroy him.

Sometimes he wasn't sure if that would be a bad thing or not. He could feel himself unraveling. Tearing apart. It was painful. Agonizing. Seconds. Minutes. Hours. They were all agony. It would probably be over quicker if he let them delete him. But… he didn't want to die. Even if that was exactly what he was meant to do…

_It hurts... No more. Please… make it stop… please…_

He never expected anyone to answer his pleas.

* * *

**Abandoned Freelancer Testing Site – Present Day...**

"What the _fuck_ were you thinking!" Washington didn't exactly yell. Whether he couldn't raise his voice due to weakness from his injuries, or to avoid Doc intervening if he heard the injured man getting 'agitated', Church wasn't sure. Either way it didn't really matter. He didn't have to yell. Epsilon still reeled back from the pure venom in David's voice as though from a physical blow.

His hologram flickered. Almost disappeared. His first instinct was to run from the hurt caused by those words and the way Wash was staring at him. Angry. Disappointed. As though Epsilon had somehow betrayed _him_. Oh, the fucking irony. Hurt quickly turned to anger.

"What the hell was I thinking? How about I saved your fucking life, you ungrateful bastard?!" Church yelled back, not bothering to check his volume. Doing what he always did when threatened physically or emotionally. He attacked.

It was Wash's turn to blink, anger morphing into shock.

"Ungrateful? I did everything I could to keep…" Wash's eyes flickered briefly to Maine and he winced as though in pain, "To keep _it_ from getting you. To keep it from starting all over again. And you-"

Though Maine's expression never changed, Epsilon could feel exactly what hearing David call him _it_ did to him. Guilt. Self-loathing. Regret. Hurt. The flood of emotions left a foul taste in his mouth, or at least the equivalent for the AI, since Epsilon didn't actually know what that was like. It was just cruel, and Epsilon didn't understand… the David he knew, had known, had never been intentionally cruel. Just the opposite. But the worst part was, Maine didn't even blame David for any of it. No matter how much it hurt. Because he felt it was deserved. But it sure as hell pissed Epsilon off.

"His name is Maine, you jackass!"

"Maine is dead!" Wash did shout this time. His expression almost manic and his entire body practically shaking with fury. But then David's expression simply… crumbled. Grief overtaking anger and that was worse. So much worse. It hit Epsilon like a punch to the gut. It couldn't have been easy for Wash. Being forced to work with Maine again after… everything.  When they had been working together searching for Epsilon, Wash had only ever called him 'Meta'. Barely being civil. Ordering him around like a pack mule or a dog. Barely treating him… human.  Only to have Maine turn on him again in the end…

Wash closed his eyes and turned his face away. It was a poor attempt at hiding his emotions, and before Epsilon could stop him, Maine stepped forward. A hesitant hand reaching out to touch Wash's shoulder. An attempt to comfort.

David's reaction was expected and instantaneous. His entire body tensed, his expression quickly changing from vulnerable to furious, and he practically snarled as he knocked Maine's hand away.

"Don't touch me," he hissed as that wild, almost hunted, look had returned to his eyes.

"Wash… he's not… going to hurt you," Epsilon tried desperately to salvage this situation, even though it had probably already spiraled well out of control. This wasn't… how either of them had wanted this to go.

Wash's laugh was bitter and… wrong. This was all wrong.

"Oh, guess I must have imagined it when he tried to kill me."

Epsilon probably couldn't blame Wash for believing that. It was true. And not. It was… complicated. Like everything.

Damn it. Could this get any more fucked up?

"Wash, that wasn't… him…" Epsilon tried anyway. Wash merely chuckled again. An awful sound like cracking glass. The sound put him on edge.

"It never was. Sigma. The Meta. Tex…" Wash shook his head and sighed. His posture sagging as though in defeat. The anger was gone. The grief was gone. When he looked up at Epsilon again, the lack of emotion in his eyes was worse than anything.

"You should have let us die. It would have been better than causing even more…" Wash's eyes looked from Epsilon pointedly to Maine as he said the word, " _Damage_."

To his credit, Maine didn't even flinch this time.

"Maybe," Epsilon agreed reluctantly. It wasn't as though _he_ hadn't thought about it constantly. Wondering if he'd made the right choice in hindsight. Agonizing over what he'd given up. Running the scenario over and over, calculating various outcomes, wondering if there had been any other way to try to save both Tex and Wash. He kept coming to the same conclusion over and over, much as he disliked the answer. He'd had an impossible choice to save either Alison or David… and Epsilon had chosen David. He refused to regret that choice, even now, "But I didn't."

Now they all had to live with those consequences.

Wash stared at them for a long time, before finally turning away without saying anything. This time Epsilon knew it was a dismissal.

Maine turned to go, but because he was a glutton for punishment, Epsilon decided he couldn't leave it at that.

"I'm not Sigma, David," the AI pointed out. As though that might mean anything to Wash. He honestly wasn't expecting an answer, and of course he didn't like the one he got.

"No. You're worse," Wash stated flatly, and this time Maine did flinch along with Epsilon. All things considered, it was a pretty low blow, but again, could he really blame the younger man? While the damage Epsilon had done to David's mind when he'd been implanted hadn't been intentional… the result was the same.

Maine's hands clenched at his sides, and he walked out of the room. This time Epsilon didn't stop him. They stalked past Doc standing in the hallway, his eyes following them with concern, but wisely got out of the big freelancer's way without trying to stop him.

"Look on the bright side. It couldn't have gone much worse," Church noted bitterly.

Maine responded by punching a hole in the wall.


	9. Chapter 9

**_Mother of Invention_ \- Several years ago...**

Washington grunted as he landed roughly on the padded mat for the twentieth time in a row.  The force of it left him gasping where he laid like a fish out of water. Already Maine could hear the snickers from around the edge of the training room where their teammates had gathered to observe.  Maine eventually leaned over the younger man to block his view of the ceiling.

“You alright?” he asked him, more amused than concerned.    
  
“Just give me… a minute…” Wash finally managed to gasp out.  Eventually Maine held out a hand and Wash took it, allowing him to help him back to his feet.    
  
“One more time,” Wash insisted, and Maine raised an eyebrow.    
  
“That’s what you said the last eight times,” he pointed out.  Before Wash could answer South shouted from the sidelines.  
  
“Give it up, Rookie.”  
  
“Ten bucks says Maine puts him in the infirmary,” he also overheard York saying to North.  The sniper shook his head, something almost like concern flickering across his features from where he watched.  While it wasn’t all that uncommon for Maine to put his sparring partners in the infirmary, the only thing Wash had currently injured was his pride.  He would have a few bruises, okay probably a lot of bruises, but he would be fine.

Carolina stood on the sidelines with her arms crossed over her chest wearing a displeased frown.  Sparring out of armor was usually a rare occurrence, but she had ordered this new training regiment because she claimed they were ‘relying too much on their equipment’.  Maine suspected the real reason was because Wash had fucked up on their last mission.  He’d used his EMP at the wrong time, and a couple of his teammates had gotten caught in the blast. It had knocked out their equipment, almost costing them the mission, and their lives. 

Maine watched as Washington’s jaw clenched stubbornly and his fingers flexed at his sides. He knew that look all too well.  It meant Wash was about to do something stupid that would probably end up getting him hurt.  Everyone knew only Carolina could really go toe to toe against him for very long.  It wasn’t going to do any good for Wash to get himself beaten to a bloody pulp as some kind of penance.  But trying to convince the younger man of this was next to impossible.  
  
“What? Are you getting tired?” Wash challenged.  Maine glanced over at Carolina but she simply nodded for them to continue and while Maine frowned he didn’t argue.  He simply got into position and the two men began to circle around each other.  As always, Maine waited for Wash to make the first move.    
  
Wash darted forward and immediately feinted to the left to avoid a powerful swing that would have laid him out flat again had it connected. Just because Maine didn’t _want_ to hurt Wash didn’t mean he was going to go easy on him.  He never pulled his punches or treated his teammates like they were made of glass.  If they could stand up to him in a fight, they could stand up to near anyone.  If handing out a few beatings and trips to the infirmary would teach them how to survive in a real fight, then that's what he was going to do.  
  
The problem was, Carolina should have called the match over a long time ago.  Why she hadn’t was a mystery to Maine until he happened to catch a glance of the observation window above the training room to find the Director watching them with a stern expression.  That did not bode well.  Especially since the Director had made his opinion of their performance on their last mission quite clear.  He had berated all of them harshly, but none more so than Washington. 

So this was some kind of test?  Did that mean the Director was considering cutting Wash from the program?  Maine couldn’t help but wonder if that wouldn’t be a bad thing.  Wash was a good soldier.  He was stubborn and fearless.  He was loyal, followed orders and was a very impressive shot with an assault rifle.  But he knew some of the other Freelancers considered him to be the weak link.  Maine didn’t share this opinion but not everyone was cut out to be a Freelancer.  That was just fact.  He would much rather see Washington cut from the program than see him killed because of some stupid rookie mistake.

Such as when Wash noticed his momentary distraction, and rather than use it to his advantage, let _himself_ be distracted.  As much as he hated to do it, he reminded Wash just how much of a bad thing this was.  Wash was too slow to avoid his next punch that clipped the side of his face. The young man staggered, dazed, and then another punch to the stomach knocked the air from his lungs a second time, Maine might have even cracked a couple of his ribs. Wash fell heavily to the floor with a pained groan.    
  
“Seriously, man.  Just stay down,” Connie called out to him.    
  
“This hurts just watching,” Wyoming commented with a laugh.    
  
“Again,” Wash demanded, struggling to sit up.  Maine frowned this time.    
  
“No.  We’re done,” he said firmly, glancing pointedly to Carolina.  If she wasn’t going to end this, then he would.  He turned and started to walk away forcing himself to ignore the almost crushed expression on the younger man’s face as Wash stared after him, still struggling to get up. 

Maine saw South and Connie snickering to each other. York was attempting to chat up Carolina again, while she was mostly ignoring him.  She had the good grace to look guilty for a moment before her face hardened again.  She glanced up at the observatory and Maine forced himself not to follow that look.  If Wash was cut from the program because of something like this… so be it.  There wasn’t much Maine could do about it at this point.  Once the director had made up his mind, there wasn’t much anyone could do to change it.   

“Better luck next time, Rookie,” he heard North say as he tried to help Wash back to his feet. In a surprising display of anger, Wash knocked away North’s hand and got back to his feet without the man’s help.  Then without warning he rushed at Maine who still had his back turned towards him.  Maine heard Carolina shout Wash’s name, only now deciding to step in, but neither man listened to her.  There was a focus in Wash’s eyes that hadn’t been there before, and Maine turned to face it head on.  

He easily sidestepped Wash’s first punch and returned with a flurry of his own.  But Wash twisted out of the way, in a manner that had to hurt his ribs, but didn’t let it show. With Maine’s greater strength and longer reach, speed and flexibility was really Wash’s only advantage.  If Wash was going to win, it wasn’t going to be with brute strength.  He had to use his head.

Apparently literally. 

Maine’s next punch hit him in the side and Wash’s expression cracked for the first time, showing the pain he’d previously been hiding. But instead of going down again he grabbed Maine’s arm on the follow through, keeping him close, and head-butted him hard.

It was Maine’s turn to stagger, feeling faintly dizzy, and wondering if Wash had managed to give them both a concussion with that blow.  But he wasn’t done.  As Maine reeled Wash grabbed onto the front of Maine’s shirt, pulled back his fist, and punched him in the face.  Hard. 

Maine heard the crunch of his nose breaking.  Felt blood pouring down his face and the back of his throat.  He blinked away the dark spots that danced in front of his vision and realized he was on the ground looking up at an unsteady Washington standing over him. 

There was utter silence in the training room.  Then finally…

“Holy shit, did that just happen?” South muttered in disbelief. 

“Agent Washington!  That was-“ Carolina started, only to be interrupted by York.

“That was fucking awesome!” 

Maine couldn’t stop himself from grinning even though it hurt.  Carolina looked back and forth between them.  She looked like she still wanted to yell at them both, but she also looked a little impressed.  That same look was shared on almost all the other Freelancers faces.  North slapped Wash on the shoulder. 

“Not bad, Wash.  Not bad,” he said.  Carolina sighed and shook her head. 

“Infirmary.  Both of you,” she ordered.  Wash held out his hand to Maine to help him up showing there were no hard feelings.  It was only once they were out of the training room and on their way to the infirmary did Wash started to stumble out an apology.

“I’m sorry, that was…” he began but never got to finish as Maine suddenly put him in a headlock.  Wash yelped in surprise, and more than a little pain, but Maine only grinned as he dug his knuckles into the top of the younger man’s head in an unpleasant but still playful manner.  Wash squawked and struggled inefficiently until Maine finally released him with a laugh. 

Wash stumbled, and might have fallen if Maine didn’t wrap an arm around his shoulders to steady him. 

“I knew you had it in you,” Maine said and Wash grinned back. 

The next day Agent Washington’s name was on the Freelancer leaderboard.

 

* * *

 

**Abandoned Freelancer Testing Site - Present Day...**

Agent Maine sat on a ledge overlooking the small valley below.  It was quiet.  Almost peaceful.  Epsilon was silently fuming in the back of his mind.  Buried so deep that Maine could barely feel echoes of his presence. 

It was not a feeling Maine was used to.  When Sigma had been implanted he’d been a bright, almost blinding, flame in his mind right from the start. Whether he was asleep or awake, he was always there.  Sometimes whispering.  Sometimes shouting.  Until Maine could barely hear his own thoughts. It hadn’t been long before Maine felt like _he_ was the intruder in his own mind.

He wasn’t used to the silence.  He wasn’t sure if he’d ever feel comfortable with only his own thoughts in his head ever again.  At least it wasn’t the complete _absence_ that had been there after the EMP had destroyed all of the AI in his mind at once.  Maine wasn’t sure he could bear that utter void in his mind again. 

He couldn’t help but think about what David had said.  About him.  Sigma.  Epsilon.  He knew that David was angry.  Rightfully so.  But he wasn’t only speaking in anger.  He was also speaking the truth. 

Did it really matter that Maine had only been Sigma’s puppet?  It had still been his hands that had ripped Carolina’s implants from her neck.  He’d also been responsible for North’s death, and so many others.  He’d hurt Wash too.  Nearly killed him twice.  Did it really matter that he’d fought against it every single moment?  It was his fault that he had failed.  That he hadn’t been strong enough to stop them. 

Maybe he _had_ died a long time ago.  All that was left now was an empty shell.  A puppet with its strings cut. 

 _“You’re not a shell,”_ Epsilon spoke up for the first time, _“Wash was being a dick.”_  

Maine frowned and shook his head slightly.  David had every right to be angry and mistrustful of both of them.  The younger man had been through hell and back and they were responsible for a great deal of that.  Especially in the last several months. 

“ _Yeah_ ? _Join the fucking club_ ,” Epsilon pointed out bitterly.  Maybe the AI had a point.  None of them had it easy over the last several years.  They had all suffered in different ways.  But Maine still couldn’t find it in himself to be angry at Wash. 

“ _You really care about him, don’t you_ ?” Epsilon asked, as though the answer wasn’t obvious.  Wash had been his friend.  His partner.  The only time he’d ever been able to fight Sigma’s control was when it involved David.  Even if all he could do was pull his punches.  He'd always tried to look out for the younger man, and that wasn’t going to change, even if Washington never forgave him.  Wash was the only thing he really had left.  The only thing to remind him of the man he used to be.  Everything else was gone. 

Epsilon sighed heavily. 

Maine looked up when he heard a sound from below, and through the trees he could see the Reds getting a warthog ready for travel.  He’d overheard them talking earlier about heading back to their old base at Valhalla for supplies. It was a risk, especially if the UNSC had discovered their subterfuge.  But it was probably a necessary one. They were going to need supplies if they planned on staying here for an extended period. 

Maine had also overheard them talking about burying their teammate’s remains while they were there.  The one Washington had shot.  Just one more body laid on the mountain of corpses littered at their feet.  Normally, he would have felt nothing at all.  Guilt over killing someone had never really weighed on his conscience in the past. He would have been a poor soldier if it had.  But this felt… different somehow.  Probably because the dead man had been a comrade to these men, who had helped him and Washington when they had absolutely no reason to do so. Like it or not, he owed these men a debt.  

He considered his options for several moments before he stood and started making his way down the cliff to the warthog where two of the red team members were arguing.

“I already called shotgun!”

“Well, I outrank you!”

“Not anymore, you got demoted, remember?”

“That wasn’t a real demotion!”

The reds both went silent when they noticed his approach and stared dumbstruck as he climbed into the passenger side of the Warthog.  If nothing else, going to Valhalla would have given him something productive to do and occupy his thoughts, something he desperately needed right now.  And David might appreciate some… space. 

“What the hell are you two numb-skulls just standing around for!  I thought I ordered you to get that warthog ready for travel!” the Sergeant yelled at his subordinates as he came out of the base followed closely by Tucker and Caboose.

“Uh, Sarge?” the orange one pointed nervously at Maine, and the older man halted in his tirade. 

“Where the heck do you think you’re going?” it was Tucker who finally spoke up.  Epsilon took that moment to appear as a hologram.

“Looks like we’re coming along for the ride,” he said plainly, as though it wasn’t up for argument. 

“I’m not sure this is a good idea-” Simmons began but cut off with a fearful squeak when Maine looked directly at him. 

“Still want to call shotgun, Simmons?” Grif joked, even though he sounded nervous as well. 

“Oh!  Can I go too?  I just love road trips!” Caboose asked excitedly, practically bouncing in place, “Please?  Please?” 

“Well, he is good at heavy lifting,” Tucker pointed out. 

“Yay!  Road trip!” Caboose yelled and jumped in the back of the warthog before anyone could stop him. 

“Boy, this trip is going to be great. Good luck with that, Sarge,” Grif outright laughed.

“Who the hell said I’m driving, numb nuts?  Someone needs to stay behind and make sure our defenses are secure.  Grif, get to Valhalla and get those supplies.  Radio if there are any problems,”  Sarge ordered.

“What?! Why me?!”

“Because I said so.  Now get in the jeep, dirt-bag.” 

“Nice knowing you,” Simmons muttered.

“Man, this sucks!” Grif continued to complain, but climbed warily into the driver’s seat regardless.  It was only then that Epsilon addressed Tucker.

“Look after Wash, will you?  Make sure he doesn’t… run off or something.” 

Tucker gave him a strange look, but nodded. 

The second they started driving, Caboose started bouncing excitedly again.  Not that he’d ever really stopped.

“Let’s play road trip games!”

“No,” Grif growled out between his teeth, but Caboose ignored him.

“Okay, we’ll sing instead!  One hundred bottles….”

“No!”

“ _You sure you want to do this_ ?” Epsilon asked Maine silently, already feeling the beginnings of a headache building.  Maine simply nodded and Epsilon began to retreat back into the depths of his mind, leaving the man once more nearly alone with his thoughts. 

“ _You’re not like him_ ,”  Maine’s words obviously weren’t what Epsilon was expecting.

“ _What_ ? _Who_ ?” 

“ _Sigma_.”

Epsilon practically flinched, and all of a sudden Maine was lost inside a memory that wasn’t his own.  Intense feelings of pain and fear almost overwhelmed him and he heard someone screaming.  Not himself.  Washington… David… he was screaming like Maine had never heard anyone before. 

“Hey, are you alright?”

It was over just as suddenly as it had begun, and Grif was staring at Maine with no small amount of wariness.  Even Caboose was watching him with obvious concern.  Maine grunted dismissively and stared pointedly out his side of the jeep, refusing to meet their gaze.  Epsilon had grown eerily silent in his mind. 

“ _No.  I’m worse_ ,”  he finally heard, barely above a whisper.  


	10. Chapter 10

**_Mother of Invention_ ** **\- Several years ago…**

It was finally time.

Wash sat in the uncomfortable chair he’d been told to wait in while they finished preparing the operating room.  He’d gotten to the infirmary early.  Not really because he wanted to, he’d just hadn’t been able to stand waiting in his room any longer.  Besides, Maine had threatened to throw him out an airlock if he didn’t stop pacing around their room while he was trying to sleep.

Wash hadn’t been able to sleep and he couldn’t sit still.  He’d already tried working out in the training room but gave that up too when he almost dropped a dumbbell on his foot because he was so distracted.  So, he’d spent the rest of the night walking around the ship aimlessly and gotten to the infirmary a whole hour early. Unable to sit completely still even now, his knee bounced up and down in a jittery motion.  At least it wouldn’t be long now.  

He couldn’t deny he was excited.  And a little nervous.  Okay, maybe more than a little.

He’d been looking forward to getting his own AI ever since he’d met Delta.  He honestly hadn’t known what to expect upon meeting the AI.  He’d never met a true AI before, at least, not one as sophisticated as Delta.  He was very surprised to find that Delta pretty much behaved like a normal person.  A small, transparent, and green person, sure, but still a person.  He liked Delta, he was smart and always helpful, even though Wash could never tell when the AI was joking around or trying to pull a prank on him.  Wash blamed York for that.  

Wash had been a little more nervous meeting Theta.  Probably because the little AI had seemed so nervous too, and he hadn’t wanted to unintentionally say the wrong thing. Wash had made a bit of an idiot of himself, but that was pretty normal, he supposed.  Theta didn’t hold it against him, thankfully.  The childlike AI was curious and playful, and Wash had even taught him how to skateboard.  Wash was honestly a little envious of Theta and North’s close relationship.  

Sigma… he honestly wasn’t sure what to think of.  Everyone seemed to agree that particular AI was a bit on the creepy side, but otherwise he seemed okay.  Maine never said anything bad about him.  Still, Wash hoped his own AI would be more like Delta or Theta. 

He couldn’t deny he was really impressed by what the AI programs were capable of.  The demonstration he’d witnessed with Theta and North had been nothing short of amazing.  Maine had always been strong, but seeing him stop a speeding jeep in its tracks with his bare hands?  Wow.  Wash’s armor enhancement wasn’t all that impressive by comparison.  Just a simple EMP.  Still, he couldn’t deny he was really looking forward to seeing what they could do together.  Maybe York would finally stop calling him the worst fighter on the team.  

He’d been just as disappointed as South when he was bumped from the list when Carolina had finally decided to take an AI for herself.  Two, in fact.  Though he’d definitely handled the news better than South.  Now it was finally his turn. 

But he was also a little nervous too.  Inverted penis jokes aside, North and York had reassured him that the worst side effects for them had been a few headaches that eventually went away.  Maine got headaches too, only they didn’t seem to be going away.  In fact, they seemed to be getting worse.  Not to mention what had happened in the training room the other day, when everyone with an AI had collapsed in pain for no apparent reason.  Carolina was still in the infirmary and the director still hadn’t offered up an explanation. 

Wash didn’t know what to think anymore.  He had been looking forward to his own implantation for so long, but at the same time he was almost dreading it.  If he refused the implantation, he’d surely be cut from the program and that was the last thing that he wanted.  The director had given him a second chance when no one else would have.  If he was kicked from the program he had nowhere else to go.

But what if something went wrong?

Damn it.  He was overthinking things.  Like usual.  Everything was going to be fine.  The director wouldn’t keep implanting the AI’s if he thought it was dangerous.  York was fine.  So was North and Wyoming.  Aside from the headaches, Maine was fine too.  Carolina… she would be fine.  There were risks, sure, but the results were worth it, right? 

“Agent Washington?  They’re ready for you now,” a nurse said pulling him from his thoughts.  She gave him a reassuring smile when he looked up.  He returned the smile as he stood, took a deep breath, and forced himself to relax. 

Everything was going to be fine.  Time to meet his new ‘best friend’... or at least he hoped that would be the case since they would be sharing the same head. 

“Does it have a name?” he asked curiously as he followed the nurse into the surgery room and made himself as comfortable as possible on the operating table.  His eyes widened in surprise when the director enter the room.  Was he always present when the AI’s were implanted?  North hadn’t mentioned that...

“Yes, it’s name is Epsilon,” the older man answered. 

* * *

**Present Day…**

Doc hesitated for several minutes before knocking softly on the door to Agent Washington’s room.  Under other circumstances he'd think twice about braving the room beyond when the other man’s mood was so uncertain.  He knew from experience that Agent Washington had a pretty bad temper.  The former Freelancer had killed half a dozen aliens simply for irritating him and threatened to feed him to the Meta more than once.  Given the way Church and the other Freelancer had left… whatever the three had discussed had obviously not gone very well.  It would probably be much smarter to leave and come back in a few hours, or even days, when he was sure Washington wouldn’t simply murder him on sight.  

But Doc had always taken his duties as a medic seriously, even if no one else seemed to appreciate his efforts, and Agent Washington was still his patient.  The agent might be out of the woods but that didn’t mean he was _well_.  Far from it in fact.  Doc really needed to check his wounds and change his bandages, since there was no way Washington could fight off an infection in his current condition. Not with the limited resources they currently had.

Washington should also try to drink, and maybe even eat, if he was feeling up to it.  The IV’s Doc had managed to smuggle out of the infirmary at Sidewinder had kept Washington hydrated while he was unconscious but the man was still dreadfully thin.  Doc tried to remember if he ever saw Washington eat during the time he’d been his hostage and didn’t like the answer he came up with.  Washington needed to get some food into him or all of Doc’s efforts would be in vain.  Their supplies were pretty limited right now, but surely he could scrounge up some soup or something for the infirm man.

Doc frowned when there was no answer from the other side of the door.  Perhaps Washington had fallen back asleep?  That wouldn’t be surprising given his condition. Doc eased the door open quietly to peek inside, just in case the man _was_ sleeping, so he wouldn’t disturb him.  

It turned out that Washington _was_ awake, but he was staring off into space with a slightly glazed look in his eyes, not really looking at anything. The man didn’t seem to notice Doc’s presence at all and he frowned in concern.

“Agent Washington?” Doc tried softly to get Washington’s attention.  He had no wish to accidentally startle the Freelancer.  When he still got no response, Doc pushed open the door and made his way quickly over to the cot where his patient laid.  Washington still had not moved at all by the time Doc stood next to him and now the medic was really concerned.  

“Agent Washington?  Can you hear me?” He tried again and pressed hand against the other man’s forehead, checking for a fever.  That finally seemed to snap the Freelancer out of whatever daze he’d fallen into and suddenly Doc found his wrist trapped in an unforgiving grip.  Previously glazed blue eyes bored into him with a laser like intensity.

“What are you doing?” Washington practically growled.  Doc was very glad that Washington wasn’t armed, or he’d probably have a bullet between his eyes by now.

“Well, there you are.  You had me worried for a second.  You feel a bit warm, but I don’t think we have to worry about a fever just yet.  We should probably keep an eye on it though. Are you lightheaded or experiencing any dizziness?” Doc inquired, deciding not to react to the threatening tone. 

Washington frowned, a line of confusion forming along his brow, and his grip relaxed slightly, “What?”

“Lightheaded?  Dizzy?  How about nausea?  If you need to vomit, I can get a bucket,” Doc offered helpfully, but took the opportunity to pull away from the volatile young man.  The line in Agent Washington’s forehead grew more pronounced.

“No…  I’m fine…” Washington finally stated flatly and averted his eyes away, his now empty hand falling limply to the bed.  Doc considered his next words very carefully.

“Well… I don’t know about being fine.  But if you’re not nauseous then you should definitely try to eat something.  You’re not quite skin and bones, but you’re darn close.  I think I can find some soup, maybe some crackers, that should be easy on your stomach.  But we should definitely check on your wounds first and change your bandages.  That’s what I’d planned to do before all the ruckus.  Sorry.  Probably should have done that first, but everyone was so eager to see you up and about-”

“Why?” The soft question cut unexpectedly into Doc’s rambling and gave him a pause.

“Pardon?”  he asked for clarification, not quite sure what Washington was asking.  That distant, almost glazed look had returned to the young man’s expression and was somehow even more concerning than the other man’s anger. 

“Why are you… helping me?” Washington asked, still avoiding his gaze. 

“Well, if I hadn’t helped, you’d probably be dead by now...” Doc said simply, still confused, when Washington’s eyes suddenly snapped back to him and the anger was back.  Really, the man’s mood swings were enough to give someone whiplash.

“Why do you even care if I live or die?  I took you hostage!  We dragged you around in a wall!  I shot-”  Washington’s voice rose with every word and had a slightly hysterical edge to it until he abruptly cut off.  His face twisted and his eyes clenched tight as though in pain… physical or emotional Doc wasn’t sure.  But one thing was for sure, getting worked up like this wasn’t doing him any good. 

Doc sighed heavily.

“Look, Agent Washington… I’m not going to say you weren’t a jerk, because that’d be a lie. I don’t know why you did everything you did and I don’t really care.  Frankly, it's all above my pay grade.  But, I’m a medic and I took an oath.  You needed help, so I helped.  It’s as simple as that.  Besides, if I held a grudge with everyone who ever took me hostage, I wouldn’t have any friends,” Doc said the last part with a slight laugh, attempting to lighten the mood a bit.  Agent Washington, not entirely unexpectedly, didn’t even crack a smile.  But his shoulders did seem to relax the slightest bit, so Doc decided that was a win. 

“So, can I take a look at your bandages now?” Doc asked, and after receiving a slight nod, got up to retrieve his tray of supplies he’d brought in earlier.  As he worked he tried to be as quick and careful as possible, knowing it would be unpleasant at best and not wanting to cause the other man more discomfort than was necessary. 

“Your wounds are looking good.  No signs of infection.  I think we’ll be able to start removing some of the stitches in another week or so.  It will be a little longer before you’ll be up and around, I’m afraid.  I set your broken ankle as best as I could, but I want to wait as long as possible before you start putting weight on it.  That will also give your ribs time to heal…”  Doc went on like that, explaining the man’s various injuries and prognosis for each.  It was difficult to tell whether Agent Washington was actually listening to him.  He seemed lost in his thoughts once more.  He didn’t even wince through the whole process despite the fact that Doc knew some of his wounds still had to be incredibly painful. 

Once he was finished, Doc reached for a syringe with painkillers he’d prepared beforehand.  Before he could inject it into the other man however, he once more found his wrist trapped in a tight grip.  Really, Agent Washington’s reflexes were excellent despite his condition.

“No,” the agent said simply and Doc found himself frowning again.  He had a feeling he would be doing a lot of that when it came to his stubborn patient.

“It’s only some painkillers, I promise.  They might make you a little drowsy but…”

“I said, no,” Washington practically snapped but at least he released Doc’s wrist without any prompting.  The medic didn’t want to push the matter, but he knew Washington’s previous dose of painkillers probably hadn’t completely worn off yet.  I he didn’t get another dose, he was going to be in a lot of discomfort pretty soon. 

With a sigh Doc set aside the syringe but decided to keep it nearby just in case Agent Washington changed his mind. 

“Will you try to eat at least?” Doc decided to push his luck anyway, and was surprised to see a slight nod from the other man.  Well, small victories, “Alright.  I’ll be back soon.”

Doc stood and made his way quickly to the small kitchen area.  Tucker glanced up at him from where he sat at the narrow table. He had found a deck of cards somewhere and seemed to be playing a game of solitaire.  Doc could hear Sarge yelling at Simmons about something outside but didn’t pay too much attention to it.  He made his way over to the cupboards to check through their meager supplies for something for Washington to eat. 

“How’s he doing?” Tucker asked, sounding only slightly interested in the answer. 

“About the same as before.  He seems a bit calmer now at least.  He’s going to try to eat something.  Do we have any soup?” Doc asked as he opened a few different cupboards but didn’t find what he was looking for. 

“Second shelf to the right,” Tucker answered, and Doc checked where he indicated.  What he found amounted to chicken broth and not much else, but it would have to do.  The medic went about preparing the meal while the blue soldier watched him with a thoughtful expression.

“So, did he say anything?” Tucker finally asked.

“About what?”

“I dunno?  About anything that will make this shit make sense?” Tucker asked with exasperation.  Doc could sympathize.  He probably knew even less about what was going on than most of the other sim troopers because he hadn’t been around when his friends had first met Agent Washington.  Doc had only negative experiences when it came to the Freelancers, being their prisoner and all.  Though from the way the others had talked, Washington hadn’t always been that way. 

“No.  I think he’s confused more than anything.  I don’t think he trusts us,” Doc offered with a small shrug while he worked. 

“Yeah?  Join the fucking club.  I don’t know why Church is so insistent on helping these douche bags.  Seems like way more trouble than they’re worth,” Tucker grumbled, irritated. 

Doc honestly wasn’t sure what to say to that.  But he might know a little about what Agent Washington was feeling right now.  After all, when Omega had been in his head, Doc had done a lot of things he wasn’t proud of.  Yet these men still trusted him now after everything.  It would take time and effort on both sides to rebuild that lost trust, but Doc was optimistic.  If Church vouched for them, they couldn’t be all bad, right?

“I dunno.  You’ll have to ask Church when he gets back,” Doc replied, and Tucker made a face.

“Not exactly easy when he’s swimming around inside that giant freak’s head,” he muttered.  Doc could sympathize.  Agent Maine was nothing short of intimidating.  Doc had a feeling Church might have been using that to his advantage to avoid talking about things he didn’t want to talk about.  But sooner or later, he was going to have to have a discussion with his team about all of this whether he wanted to or not.  His friends weren’t going to take being blown off forever.  Doc could tell that Tucker was already on the verge of losing his patience.

Doc finished what he was doing and transferred the warm broth to a bowl.

“Well, I’ll let you know if I find out anything useful.  I’m going to go give this to Agent Washington, now,” Doc offered and not surprisingly Tucker still looked far from pleased.  He continued muttering less than polite things to himself as Doc left the kitchen. 

Doc knocked on Agent Washington’s door to be polite but wasn’t surprised this time when he didn’t receive an answer.  So instead of waiting for one, he simply pushed open the door.

“Agent Washington, I have some soup.  I couldn’t find any crackers but… oh no…” Doc’s voice trailed off as he realized his patient’s bed was empty.  Agent Washington was gone. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Road to Valhalla - Present Day...**

“Twenty two bottles of beer on the wall!  Twenty two…”

Grif had mostly drowned out the off key singing at somewhere around sixty six bottles (after he had gotten over his surprise that Caboose could actually count that high).  Trying to get the blue soldier to be quiet was, unfortunately, a futile endeavor.  Not even asking to play the ‘quiet’ game had worked, because apparently that wasn’t a road trip game, and they were only allowed to play road trip games on a road trip.

Luckily Grif had a lot of practice tuning out annoying teammates. 

Equally surprising was that the huge psychopathic freelancer sitting in the passenger seat seemed completely unaffected by Caboose’s annoying warbling.  Grif had been certain the man would snap and strangle Caboose at seventy one bottles, tops.  Or at least knock him unconscious.  Even Church, who’d always been the first to yell at Caboose to shut up when he was being annoying, had been eerily silent through the whole trip. 

He would be glad when they reached Valhalla.  The sooner they could get the supplies they needed and get back to the others, the better.  Why the hell had he agreed to this again?  Sure, Sarge had ordered him to, but it wasn’t like he hadn’t disobeyed Sarge’s orders before, especially if they were life threatening.  Probably because if he had resisted, Sarge would have just ordered Simmons to do it instead, and unlike him the kiss ass wouldn’t have disobeyed a direct order.  Not even in the face of mortal danger. 

Damn it.  Sometimes he thought he was the only sane one out of the whole damned bunch.  Or at least the only one with a smidgen of self-preservation.  Then again, maybe that made him even more insane because he still constantly put his neck on the line for these assholes anyway.  Yeah, that was pretty much second nature to him when it came to his little sister, because that’s a big brother’s job. 

Grif sighed.  Guess that big brother instinct just didn’t go away, and despite all the shit these idiots and assholes put him through, they had still become almost like family over the years.  And family stuck together no matter what the odds…

“Stop!”

Church’s sudden appearance after so long startled him badly enough that Grif slammed on the brakes out of instinct.  Caboose went tumbling to the floor in the back of the Warthog, cut off mid verse and after a quick glance in the mirror to make sure the blue soldier was alright, Grif turned to the hologram in irritation.

“Dude, what the fuck!” he shouted, but was cut off mid tirade when Maine held up a hand.  It made the hairs on the back of Grif’s neck stand up and even Caboose remained silent thanks to the obvious tension in the air.  Then, before Grif could grow impatient and snap again, a couple of Hornets suddenly roared overhead.  If they hadn’t stopped when they did under a convenient cluster of trees, they would have been completely exposed.  As it was, the ships continued on, oblivious to their presence… in the direction of Valhalla. 

Coincidence?  Probably not.

“What the hell?” Grif finally asked, though much quieter than before.

“It’s the UNSC.  I’ve been picking up some scattered communications for a while now, but hadn’t been able to pinpoint where they were coming from,” Church explained. 

“Shit.  Valhalla?” Grif asked, and it was Maine who nodded.  Double shit.  Considering the UNSC hadn’t really given a damn about them or Valhalla before, that probably meant they’d figured out that they’d been screwed over by a bunch of simulation troopers and were now hunting for them.  They’d all pretty much figured it would happen sooner or later, but this was definitely sooner than they’d been hoping for.  Going back to their old bases would be impossible now, and that meant they were going to have to get the supplies they needed from somewhere else. 

“Guess we should head back then…” Grif said and started to turn the Warthog around.  It sucked they’d come all this way for nothing, but at least they’d found out before walking into some kind of trap…

“I think we should keep going,” Church said, and Grif did a double take, sure he’d heard wrong, but apparently he was completely serious.

“What?!  Why?”  It was way too risky.  They could get supplies somewhere else.  It might take longer and more effort but…

“Because the transmissions I picked up talked about a prisoner transport,” Church replied.

* * *

**Abandoned Freelancer Testing Site - Present Day...**

“What do you mean he’s gone?”

“Exactly what it sounds like, Sarge.  One minute he was there.  The next he wasn’t.  That’s what _he’s gone_ means!”

“Just how did a half-dead freelancer manage to slip past you unnoticed?”

“Maybe the ‘freelancer’ part had something to do with it!  And, wasn’t that supposed to be your job, Red?  Setting up a perimeter or some shit?”

“A perimeter is designed to keep threats out, not…”

“Look guys, I hate to interrupt, but shouldn’t we be out looking for him?  He couldn’t have gotten very far in his condition and I’m worried he might do even more harm to himself like this.”

“God damn it.  Church is going to be pissed.  We need to find him before they get back.”

“Church is a six inch transparent hologram, Tucker.  He’s not the one I’m worried about.”

“Hmm, you’ve got a point there, Simmons.  Alright, we’ll split up into teams and search the area…”

Washington turned off the transmission at that point.  It was giving him a headache and he was pretty sure he wouldn’t learn anything else useful from that lot.  He’d be disgusted by the gross level of incompetence if it wasn’t working in his favor right now. 

First, leaving him alone in an unguarded room with an entire suit of armor within relatively easy reach.  Getting the armor on had been a bit of a trial but he’d managed.  Thankfully they had also left York’s healing unit installed in the armor, that would help keep him on his feet at least.  The blue and yellow coloring didn’t blend too well with the surrounding vegetation Wash was currently crouching in, but beggars couldn't be choosers.  At least it had gotten him this far, and he was confident he could stay ahead of whatever pursuit the Sim Troopers might attempt, ‘half-dead’ state or not. 

Hacking into the Sim Trooper’s private com channel had been incredibly simple as well, given that the idiots still hadn’t adopted a more secure passcode procedure.  Wash had correctly guessed the passcode was ‘passcode’ and in a few minutes he’d learned all he really needed to know. 

Epsilon and the Meta were gone.  Along with some of the other Sim Troopers but they didn’t really concern Wash.  The Meta was his concern.  Right now it didn’t have any of its armor enhancements, but it could get more Freelancer equipment fairly easily with the knowledge that Epsilon possessed.  Wash needed to find it before that could happen.  He was already at a serious disadvantage as it was. 

Was that where it had gone?  Was that what it was planning next? It wasn’t easy to predict, and even harder to track.  Wash had no idea when it had left, or even which direction it had gone.  All he knew was the longer he waited to go after it the harder it was going to be to catch up to it. 

But the way the Reds and Blues talked they seemed to expect them to return at some point.  It would certainly be easier for Wash to stay here and wait, set up some kind of ambush… but could he really take that chance?  They were idiots.  How can they even think to trust the Meta after everything it had done?  They had no idea what the Meta was capable of.  They didn’t know what Epsilon was capable of…

Washington knew.  All too well.  Together they were a ticking time bomb just waiting to explode.

He didn’t know why the Meta hadn’t killed the Sim Troopers already.  Why it hadn’t killed _him_ when it had the chance.  The reasons didn’t really matter.  All that mattered was stopping it before… before it could start all over again. 

Wash gripped the rifle in his hands hard, though that didn’t stop them from shaking.

He had to stop it before it was too late. 

* * *

**Valhalla - Present Day...**

Grif hunched down behind some bushes on the cliff side they’d chosen to observe the UNSC troops in Valhalla.  The Warthog was hidden deeper in the caves, concealed from any overhead patrols but still in a position to allow them a hasty exit if needed.  He trained the binoculars down into the valley, trying to see what was going on. 

There were a lot of troops.  A lot.  And they didn’t look prepared for a friendly chat. 

He’d been initially worried about bringing Caboose along on lookout, but he’d been equally concerned about leaving the blue soldier on his own with the Warthog.  Church had reassured him Caboose would be fine, and surprisingly, he was.  Apparently he had plenty of practice spying on them over the years so he knew not to do something stupid like fall off the cliff and alert their enemies to their presence.  Also, he hadn’t figured out yet that he’d never win the ‘quiet game’ since Maine couldn’t talk. 

Still, Grif couldn’t figure out why there were so many troops.  It seemed like a bit of an overkill for a handful of Simulation Troopers.  Then again, if they thought they’d be going up against Washington and Maine that might justify it.  But what was that whole transmission thing about a prisoner transport?  A prisoner generally meant they’d caught someone, but everyone else was back at that abandoned testing site…

“We’ve got a problem,” Church said as his hologram reappeared from where he’d gone to do some electronic surveillance or some shit, Grif hadn’t really understood the specifics.  But that didn’t sound good.

“What? Did you find out about the prisoner?” Grif asked, only to get his answer when Caboose suddenly shouted, apparently forgetting about the ‘quiet game’ in his excitement.

“Look!  It’s Captain Croissant!” 

Grif forgot all about scolding Caboose too, because he realized in that moment, the blue soldier was right.  More or less.  Being led by a couple of UNSC soldiers with his hands bound behind him, limping heavily, and looking more than a little worse for wear.  But it was definitely him.

Donut.  


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the rating and tag changes for this fic, you've been warned. Thanks.

**Freelancer Case File 01.045 - Many years ago...**

“Well, that went well…” David muttered to himself with a heavy sigh as he set Connie… CT’s… helmet down on the bench in front of her locker.  She was going to need it later, after all.  He made his way to his own locker with a heavy heart, and sat down on the bench wearily.  In that moment he felt much older than his actual twenty-three years. 

When did everything get so… complicated?

As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he couldn’t help but wonder if CT was right.  He’d noticed how the other Freelancers had begun to treat him when he’d finally made it onto the leaderboard.  He’d also noticed how the Freelancers who _weren’t_ on the leaderboard treated him.  South had always been kind of a bitch to him, but now she was just plain cold.  And Connie… no CT he reminded himself… he’d thought they were friends, but she had grown so distant lately.  This mission simply seemed to be the last straw.

There was definitely a divide between them.  But Wash wasn’t sure if that was intentional, if the Director had really planned it that way, or if it was simply a result of being part of such a competitive group of people.  The rivalry wasn’t always pretty, and it certainly seemed to drive some of them more than others.  But in the end, they were a team.  They were all on the same side.  They were expected to work together, not against each other. 

No matter what CT might think, Wash couldn’t think of a logical reason why the Director would want to divide them.  If this _was_ some kind of selection process, what exactly were they being selected for? 

All the secrecy wasn’t exactly new.  Hell, they hadn’t even told him what Project Freelancer _was_ when he’d been recruited.  But like it or not, Wash hadn’t had much choice in the matter.  Between joining a secret military operation that could potentially turn the tide in the war, or being court-martialed, the Director’s offer was vastly more appealing. 

The director had given him a second chance when no one else would have.  Wash might not agree with everything he saw happening in the project, but that wasn’t his call.  He was a soldier and was expected to follow orders.  He owed the director that much. 

But he couldn’t quite shake the feeling of doom that CT’s words dredged up inside of him.  In his gratitude had he made himself willfully blind to something he shouldn’t have?  He’d thought they all had the same goal; to end the war.  He’d thought they were all on the same ‘side’ but what if they weren’t?  If so, what side was he on?

That was how Maine found him.  Sitting hunched over miserably on the bench in front of his locker, still wearing his armor, and lost deeply in his thoughts.  For such a big guy, Maine could move pretty quietly when he wanted to.  Wash didn’t even hear him enter the locker room, and had no idea how long Maine had been standing there watching him brood.  It was only when Wash heard the other man make a sound somewhere between a sigh and a growl, startling him a little bit, that his head finally snapped up to look at the bigger man standing next to him.

“Maine… sorry… I…” Wash didn’t even know what he was apologizing for.  Maine made another frustrated sounding sigh.

“Up,” he ordered. 

Knowing that if he didn’t obey that the other man would probably just manhandle him anyway, Wash slowly stood with a tired groan. His muscles had grown stiff from sitting so long in one position, not to mention the bumps and bruises he’d received during the mission.  At least he hadn’t been shot this time.  North hadn’t been so lucky.  The Medics said he would be fine, but South wasn’t happy.  Probably another reason why Connie… CT… was so upset.  She and South used to be close too, but now…

“Stop thinking,” Maine’s deep voice penetrated the downward spiral of his thoughts, stopping them in their tracks. 

“Sorry…” Wash mumbled again, not sure what else to say.  He didn’t want to say anything stupid and have Maine pissed off at him too. If there was one thing CT was right about, it was that Maine didn’t like coddling.  If something was bothering the bigger man, you could usually find Maine in the training room destroying something.  That’s probably where Maine had been since he was still in his armor too, bearing a few fresh scorch marks.  Just how long had Washington been sitting here feeling sorry for himself?

“You worry too much,” Maine said, as though having read his thoughts.  Then he reached over and released the seals on David’s helmet, pulling it off.  The air of the locker room smelled like a mixture of gun oil and sweat, making David wrinkle his nose.  It was always a little jarring to his senses coming out of the armor that sometimes felt like a second skin they were required to wear it so much.  Still, he couldn’t deny the cool air felt good against his skin, and helped clear his head a little. 

“You don’t have to…” Wash mumbled, but Maine ignored him as he went about removing the rest of his armor quickly and efficiently.  So Wash simply stood there and let him. Once he was stripped down to just the dark Kevlar under suit they all wore underneath the armor, Maine finally stepped away and started to take off his own armor.  Wash took the opportunity to collect the pieces of his armor and stacked them neatly in the receptacle for maintenance to have cleaned and any repairs done that were needed. 

By the time he was finished, so was Maine, and he mumbled a small thanks to the older man as he made his way to the locker room showers.  He wasn’t surprised to hear Maine follow him.  But he _was_ surprised when he stopped in front of one of the shower heads and started to strip off the under suit he felt Maine’s hands pushing his own out of the way.  Wash felt his heart rate speed up a little in his chest and his skin flush.  He had just enough time to realize just how close they were standing, that he could actually feel the heat radiating off of Maine’s body behind him, before those strong hands started peeling down the last barrier between them.  His skin broke out in goosebumps due to the combination of the cool air and Maine’s hands brushing down his body.  Any protest Wash might have made died in his throat and he simply stood still, shivering a little, as he stepped out of the bodysuit once Maine had pulled it completely down. 

Wash kept his eyes firmly fixed on the wall in front of him while he listened to the sounds of Maine undressing behind him.  It certainly wasn’t the first time they had showered together.  Hell, they’d all shared the communal showers together at one time or another, even with the women. Nothing was ever made of it.  They were all soldiers. Professionals.  Not horny kids in high school. But this… was different.  Wash could feel an almost electrical charge between them that hadn’t really been there before.  Or, at least, never this strongly.  He was afraid to turn around and look at Maine, afraid the older man would see the question… want… hope… in his expression.  They’d never done this before.  Never even talked about it.  What if he was wrong?  What if…

Then he felt the light brush of Maine’s fingers along his shoulder, a silent question.  Casual enough to be shrugged off and forgotten if either of them wanted that.  Wash responded by taking a small step back, well into Maine’s personal space, though still not touching except for those gentle fingers on his shoulder.  Then he reached over to turn on the water for the shower head, adjusting it to the temperature that he liked, as he felt Maine’s other hand wrap around his waist and pull him back the rest of the way. 

David’s breath hitched in his throat when he felt Maine’s chest press up against his back, all warm skin and hard muscle.  Oh… that felt nice.  He must have made some kind of noise, because he felt more than heard the rumble of Maine’s laugh in his chest and his legs went a bit weak when the arm around his middle gave him an affectionate squeeze. 

“Relax,” Maine whispered, his breath warm against the shell of his ear. 

“I am,” Wash insisted.  He was feeling very relaxed right now, thank you very much.  With the combination of the hot water from the shower, the hot body standing behind him, and the even hotter lips trailing down his neck… okay so maybe he was more relaxed in some areas than others.  But given the way Maine was touching him, and the way David hoped this was going, that was a good thing. 

Maine’s hand trailed down his arm, and then around to join the other splayed against his stomach.  The muscles of his abdomen clenched as those long fingers traced over them, then slid upwards along his chest.  Christ, Maine had nice big hands, and there was something really thrilling knowing exactly what kind of damage those hands could do and having them so gently touching his body. 

He went to lean more of his weight back against the older man, just as Maine decided to take a step back, and Wash stumbled a little with a surprised yelp.  Maine laughed.  The bastard.  But before Wash could do much more than glare at the other man over his shoulder, Maine pushed him forward with a firm hand between his shoulder blades. David’s hands came up instinctively to brace himself against the tile wall, but he didn’t have time to question what Maine was doing before the older man’s other hand joined the first and began kneading the muscles along his shoulders. 

“Oh…” Wash heard himself breathe, his knees going a little wobbly when those skilled fingers started working at a stubborn knot at the base of his neck that had been bothering Wash all day.

“Good?”

David hummed in contentment, and Maine continued the massage.  Working out knots in his neck, shoulders, and back.  Some Wash didn’t even realize he’d had until the tension was finally released, effectively turning the younger man into a puddle of goo where he stood.  After a time he almost wished they’d started this anywhere else other than the locker room shower.  Somewhere he could lay down (like a bed, a bed would be good) and really enjoy what Maine was doing without having to worry about ending up as an undignified lump on the floor when his legs gave out.  But he didn’t want to suggest they stop and move to a different location. One, because he didn’t want Maine to stop, even for a second.  And two, he wasn’t going anywhere with the raging boner he was now sprouting. 

Wash groaned as Maine’s fingers dug into his lower back on either side of his spine.  His arms trembled and he wasn’t sure how much longer his legs were going to support him.  Damn, Maine was really good at this. 

“Thanks,” Wash heard Maine say behind him, and Wash blushed hard realizing he’d said that aloud unintentionally.  Just how much of that had he said aloud? Maine chuckled and helpfully provided the answer, “Raging boner.”

David groaned again, this time more in embarrassment than pleasure and buried his face against his arms.  Maine’s laugh was a nice sound, Wash had to admit, even if it was at his expense. 

That was when Maine’s hands gripped his hips and flipped him around, so that he was now trapped between one wall made of cool tile and the other made of pure muscle.  Maine’s dark eyes were fixed on him in a way that made Wash glad that the bigger man was now supporting much of his weight.  He was also feeling a lot less embarrassed about his ‘raging boner’ now that he could feel a very impressive, very raging, boner digging quite insistently into his stomach.  Wash, perhaps more pleased with himself than he should have been, looped his arms around Maine’s shoulders.

“Hi,” Wash whispered, unable to keep the stupid grin off his face, “Come here often?”

He knew it was pretty bad, even as he said it.  But it was worth the almost pained look Maine gave him and the long suffering sigh that followed.  Wash bit his lip to keep from giggling and instead used his leverage to rub wantonly against Maine’s body, dragging his stomach against the bigger man’s hard on and rubbing his own against the firm thigh between his legs. 

The low rumbling growl that left Maine’s chest was very satisfying, but David didn’t have much time to enjoy it before the older man’s hands gripped him by the thighs and hoisted him clear off the ground.  Wash wasn’t a small guy, but nearly everyone was small when compared to Maine, and he couldn’t deny it was a bit thrilling to be so easily manhandled like this.  He wrapped his legs around Maine’s waist for support and tightened his arms around the older man’s neck.  The new position brought their erections together nicely, and as a bonus, allowed Wash to lean forward and seal their mouths together in a kiss without either of them having to reach. 

He felt Maine pause for a moment when their lips touched, but then those lips parted eagerly against his own.  Their tongues twined together and their cocks slid smoothly together between their moving bodies, the friction eased by the water.  They’d probably end up with another lecture from the Councilor after this about wasting ship resources, never mind that ninety percent of the water on the ship was recycled, but Wash didn’t give a shit.  One of Maine’s hands squeezed his ass firmly, probably leaving a hand shaped bruise, and Wash whimpered into the older man’s mouth.

Fuck… he was close.  He was so wound up Wash had a feeling this was going to be over embarrassingly quickly, but he couldn’t help it.  He hadn’t felt this good since… longer than he could remember.  That probably said a lot about his sex life… or just his life in general.  But he wasn’t going to think about that right now.  He didn’t want to think about anything, for a change.  He just wanted to enjoy this while it lasted. 

When Maine’s hand slipped between them to circle his dick, his thumb circling around his crown and flicking across the sensitive slit, Wash began to pant.  His head dropping back against the wall as he moaned loudly.  Maine took the opportunity to start sucking hard at the side of his neck, making Wash glad that he wore full armor with helmet ninety percent of the time so no one else would see the massive hickey the other man was leaving. 

“Maine… I’m gonna… fuck… fuck…”

His orgasm hit him with the force of a truck, leaving him breathless and his voice echoing off the walls in the locker room shower.  Maine’s grip on his thigh tightened even further, fingers digging painfully into his muscles as the older man continued to move against him.  The friction against Wash’s over sensitive skin near overwhelming.  His nails dug bloody rents into the bigger man’s shoulders and Maine finally came with something more akin to a growl than a moan.  The feeling of the other man’s seed as it shot hotly against his stomach made Wash whimper. 

They stayed like that for a long time, panting against one another, until finally Wash made a small sound of discomfort.  His back, despite his earlier relaxation, beginning to protest the position, and Maine lowered him carefully down onto his wobbly legs.

“That was… wow…” Wash offered, the only thing he could think of, since his brain felt like it had been reduced to mush at that point.  Maine only shook his head fondly at him and turned him around to face the shower head.  The water was thankfully still pleasantly warm and Maine, ever the gentleman it seemed, helped Wash clean up.  Once Wash was a little bit steadier on his feet, he returned the favor. 

They finally left the showers, and returned to the locker room to dress in a comfortable silence.  Wash almost expected it to be awkward, or something, between them now, but surprisingly it wasn’t.  Even given how unexpectedly this had all started.  But it did leave him with a lot of unanswered questions that Wash wasn’t sure how to ask.  Had this been just a one off thing?  A helping hand, or something?  Just blowing off steam, and they weren’t going to mention it again?  Or was it something else?  Something more? Did he want it to be?

Wash finished dressing before Maine and turned towards the older man, his teeth chewing on his lower lip nervously as he considered just how to phrase what he wanted to say.  Maine finished tying his boots and finally looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

“So… um… see you later?” Wash fumbled and almost wanted to smack himself.  Smooth.  Real smooth.  In response Maine stood, walked over to him, cupped the back of his neck, and drew Wash into a slow lingering kiss.  Then the older man released him and walked out of the locker room as quietly as he’d entered.  Leaving Wash standing there with a stupid grin on his face and a fluttering in his stomach that was far from unpleasant.  

 

* * *

 

**Valhalla - Present Day…**

“Donut is alive?  But, Simmons said Washington shot him.  He said he was dead,” Grif said in disbelief.  To that, Epsilon merely snorted.

“Seriously?  That guy survived Tex sticking a grenade to his head, and you survived getting run over by a tank.  You reds are worse than cockroaches.”

“You’re one to talk!  At least I didn’t get blown up by my own teammate, you friggen blue ghost!” Grif countered. 

“I was shot in my pinky toe!” Caboose chimed in happily.

They really didn’t have time for this. 

“Alright, we can play who’s had the best resurrections later.  We still need to figure out what to do about Donut,” Church tried to steer them back on track. 

“Oh, yeah, right.  I’ll be right back,” Grif said and stood, heading back towards where they’d hidden the warthog.

“Where are you going?” Epsilon demanded.

“I’m going to call Sarge.  He’ll know what to do,” Grif replied over his shoulder as though it were the most reasonable solution. 

“Are you insane! If you send a radio signal not only will the UNSC be on us like flies on shit, they’ll probably be able to trace the signal all the way back to the others!”

“Well what’s your plan then!” Grif threw up his hands in frustration. 

Maine, who had been mostly ignoring the exchange while he studied the layout and defenses of the valley below, finally stood and turned his attention to the sim troopers.  Epsilon was a bit surprised by the Freelancer’s decision. 

 _“Are you sure?”_ he asked.  Maine grunted an affirmative. 

“Caboose, give Agent Maine your weapon,” Epsilon told the blue soldier. 

“Okay.”

“What?!  No!” Grif shouted, but Caboose had already handed his rifle over to Maine.  As Maine began to check the weapon, Epsilon was a bit surprised to hear the sound of Grif cocking his own weapon, and realized the orange soldier was pointing it directly at them. 

“You don’t want to do that, Grif,” Epsilon warned. 

“Put it down,” Grif ordered.  Caboose looked back and forth between them all in confusion.  Of course Maine didn’t put the weapon down, but at least he wasn’t pointing it at Grif.  Yet. 

“Damn it, Grif, we don’t have time for this!  Do you want to rescue Donut or not!” Church shouted.

“Is that a trick question?”

“Look, they’re getting ready to transport Donut out of here to someone called the ‘Chairman’ right now!  If we don’t act fast, we might never find him again!  We don’t have many options right now,” Epsilon tried to remain as calm and reasonable as possible, because the alternative… was not good, “He wants to help.”

“He doesn’t even have any armor!” Grif countered, at least lowering his weapon, which made Epsilon release a metaphorical sigh of relief.  But he did have a point, and the damned pink sparkly t-shirt Maine was wearing wasn’t exactly discrete. 

“Are you offering yours then?” Epsilon shot back, even though the idea was ridiculous.  Grif’s armor would never fit…

“He can borrow mine, for a little while,” Caboose interrupted.  Epsilon nearly wrote it off as just another random idiotic idea from the blue soldier, but after taking a second look at Caboose, and then a more detailed body scan, he realized Caboose and Agent Maine actually weren’t that far off in build. 

Huh… what do you know…


	13. Chapter 13

**Valhalla - Present Day…**

He wished someone would just tell him what the heck was going on.  

He’d woken up in the med bay.  He didn’t really remember what had happened.  But he had vague recollections of being afraid, an intense pain in his stomach, then Simmons shouting his name.  But not in the usual way.  Simmons wasn't angry.  He had sounded worried.  Scared even.  For him.

That was when he had been sure he was going to die.  

Later on, a doctor told him he’d been shot. If his armor hadn’t locked down in recovery mode automatically, he would have certainly bled to death in minutes.  Still, when the UNSC soldiers had found him he’d been starving, severely dehydrated, and close to complete organ failure.  Initially they thought he _was_ dead. A couple more days, he would have been. 

He was lucky to be alive.

Over time Donut remembered a little bit more.  He started asking about his friends.  What had happened to Simmons and Lopez?  Someone had been after them.  Someone scary.  Had they gotten away?  What about Sarge and Grif?  Were they okay? 

No one would answer his questions.

Then someone else had come to see him.  Not a doctor.  He’d never introduced himself and asked him all kinds of weird questions that he didn’t know the answers to. 

Donut had no idea who the Director even was, much less his location.  He had never even heard of Project Freelancer. Nor did he know anything about the men who had attacked him, except that one was really big and the other wore gray armor.  He didn’t know where his teammates were either.  Honestly, the man asking him all the questions was so… hostile... about it, Donut didn’t know if he would have told him even if he _did_ know where his friends were. 

Though it did give him some hope that the others were still alive, if people were looking for them.  Even if it made him even more worried about them.

Today, the doctor had come in and informed him he was being moved.  The doctor wouldn’t answer when Donut had asked him where they were taking him and why.  He still wasn’t feeling all that great and the soldiers who’d come to haul him out of the hospital bed hadn’t been all that gentle.  Normally Donut didn’t mind handcuffs and a bit of rough handling, depending on the circumstances.  But even he thought this was all a bit excessive. 

They were treating him like he was some kind of criminal. 

Was he?

“Can’t you at least tell me where we’re going?” Donut tried again, stumbling a little on unsteady legs that didn’t want to hold up his own weight.  His stomach still hurt badly and if not for the two men gripping his arms, practically bruising him, he wouldn’t even be standing right now. 

Of course the stern faced soldiers didn’t answer him.  They were waiting for his ‘transport’ to arrive.  Shouldn’t be too much longer. 

“Can I sit down at least?” he was tired, he was hurting, and none of this made any damned sense…

Needless to say, the sudden explosion that erupted out of Red Base didn’t improve his confusion.

“I didn’t leave the tanning bed on this time, I swear!” Donut cried as he watched the flames lick towards the skies.  Oh man, Sarge was going to _kill_ him.  But, unsurprisingly, none of the UNSC soldiers were listening to him.  Many of  the soldiers started running to Red Base, either to help control the flames or to investigate the cause.  That was when the shooting started.  A lot of shooting.  A lot of shouting… a lot of screaming.  That couldn’t be good. 

“Take the prisoner back inside!  Go!” One of the men standing beside him shouted and it took Donut a moment to realize they were talking about him.  Prisoner?  What?  But he hadn’t done anything wrong…

The other soldier started dragging him along, and Donut struggled to keep up.  He stumbled several times, and the other man had to keep yanking him back to his feet.  It took Donut a few moments to realize that the soldier _wasn’t_ in fact taking him back into the Blue Base. 

“Where are we going?” Donut cried again in confusion.  Then the soldier who’d been manhandling him suddenly stopped, turned him around, and… removed the handcuffs?

“Run for the trees!” the soldier ordered.  His voice sounded strange…

“What…”

Then the soldier suddenly collapsed leaving behind a familiar shimmering blue outline. 

“Church?!”

“Go, damnit!” Church shouted and disappeared. Donut didn’t think twice about it.  He ran.  Or at least he tried to.  He was exhausted and in too much pain to go very fast or far. He didn’t know if he was going to be able to make it…

“Stop or I’ll shoot!” Apparently not. He really didn’t want to get shot again.  So he stopped.

“On your knees!”

While those were usually some of his favorite orders to follow, in this context they only filled him with dread.  He threw up his hands and dropped to his knees.  When the gunshots suddenly rang out behind him, Donut flinched in fear, but the expected pain didn’t come.  Slowly Donut turned his head to look behind him and saw the UNSC soldier that had been threatening him on the ground.  Dead.  There was a familiar figure in blue armor marching up to him.

“Caboose?!” Donut whispered in disbelief. 

“Not exactly,” the light blue hologram stated as he shimmered to life beside the blue armored soldier. 

“Church?”

“Not… exactly.”

The roar of an engine and screech of tires interrupted any other questions Donut might have voiced, as a Warthog skidded to a stop beside him.  Donut could have wept seeing the familiar orange armored soldier at the wheel.

“Grif!”

“Get in!” his teammate ordered without preamble, and Donut wasted no time stumbling to his feet and flopping exhausted into the passenger seat.

“Go, we’ll cover you!” Church ordered, and to Donut’s shock, Grif didn’t argue as he threw the jeep into gear and started driving away.

“Wait!  We can’t just leave them behind!” he started to protest, and Grif merely shook his head.

“Don’t worry, they can handle it.”

* * *

Well, that went better than he’d been expecting.  

Sneaking into Red Base had been surprisingly easy.  All Epsilon had to do was knock out the cameras and Maine had taken care of the rest.  The explosion the man had set had done its job well distracting the UNSC soldiers, allowing Maine to pick off many of them before they were even aware of his position.  Meanwhile Epsilon took control of one of the soldiers guarding Donut, allowing him to get the man out of harm’s way.  Easy peasy.  

Now came the hard part.  Continuing to provide enough of a distraction to allow the others time to get away. 

“Remember, you have to take it easy,” Epsilon reminded his partner as they watched the Warthog drive away.  Maine grunted dismissively as he reloaded his weapon, and waited behind cover for the inevitable onslaught. 

Epsilon frowned. 

Despite what Maine might have wanted the others to think, Epsilon knew the man wasn’t nearly as recovered as he pretended.  Between Tex, Wash, and the Sim troopers, getting shot, stabbed, blown up, not to mention falling off a cliff and nearly drowning, he had taken a lot of damage back at Sidewinder.  Caboose’s armor would provide the man some protection, but it was not enhanced like the Freelancer armor had been.  It didn’t have a healing unit, or strength boost, or even a speed enhancement.  So Epsilon could offer the man little in the way of support in that regard.  Maine was still pretty damned formidable.  Don’t get him wrong.  But things could easily turn bad, fast, if Maine didn’t take his current limitations into account. 

“We’ve got incoming,” Epsilon informed his partner, lighting up the enemy units on the man’s HUD.  Maine grunted again, and when the first enemy forces broke cover attempting to pursue the Warthog, Maine took them down quickly and efficiently. 

This was definitely where Maine had always excelled.  He was practically a one man army. The one sent in to clean up the mess when a battle got too heated.  He took the hits so his teammates didn’t.  He was the one who made sure everyone else got out alive.

Donut wasn’t his teammate.  Didn’t even know him.  Hell, neither did Epsilon technically.  The Alpha had known him, and had mixed feelings about the man.  Donut had blown up Tex with a grenade, after all.  But then again, the guy had blown up _Tex_ with a _grenade_.  That took balls.  So he still kind of respected the guy.  Liked him even.  But that wasn’t the reason they had decided to help.

The Reds and the Blues had been through a lot together.  They’d been enemies for years, then grudgingly allies.  All the Red and Blue soldiers had come to help Epsilon in Sidewinder despite the fact that he wasn’t the Alpha.  Like it or not, Epsilon owed them a debt.  Plus, if they managed to bring Donut back safely, surely that would help things. At least, make it a little less tense. 

Maybe in a way it would help Wash too.  David had never been the kind of man to shoot a man in cold blood.  It just… wasn’t him.  Epsilon didn’t know what Washington had gone through to drive him to do something like that, but it had to be messing him up, even if he’d never admit it.  Maybe knowing he hadn’t killed Donut would help.  Maybe it wouldn’t.  But anything had to be better than this.  It was worth the shot, anyway. 

Maine agreed. 

So, the former Freelancer held his ground.  Even though he was quickly running low on ammo and there seemed to be no end to the UNSC soldiers converging on his position. But all they had to do was hold out long enough for Grif to signal that they were clear…

When Epsilon finally received that signal, he let out a metaphorical sigh of relief.

“That’s it.  They’re clear.  Fall back and blow the charges,” Epsilon informed the man, but Maine didn’t break cover and fall back as he expected.  He kept firing on the UNSC soldiers.  Barely holding them at bay as they slowly advanced on his position.

“Maine, we need to fall back now!” Epsilon insisted.  If they didn’t fall back, they wouldn’t be able to get clear of the explosion…

Understanding left Epsilon suddenly feeling cold.  Maine had no intention of falling back.  He had no intention of getting clear.  He planned to lure the UNSC forces in as close as possible and… take them all out together.  This realization was confirmed when Maine spoke up for the first time in his head.

“ _Go_ ,” the man ordered.  Oh, like _hell_!

“No fucking way!  You are not pulling this ‘going out in a blaze of glory’ shit!” Epsilon argued.  He couldn’t believe this!  He’d known that Maine was pretty fucked in the head, but he hadn’t realized to what extent.  He had no idea the man might actually be suicidal.  Epsilon had to admit, Maine had hid that from him pretty well.  With the state that Maine’s mind was in, Epsilon didn’t think he could hide _anything_ from him, much less something that big.  Maybe he had underestimated the man.  Epsilon had a feeling, so had Sigma. 

They still had enough time.  Barely.  As long as Epsilon could convince the stupid bastard to move!

_“He was right.”_

“Who?”

_“Never should have survived…”_

Oh…

Fucking hell, Wash…

“You know he didn’t mean that,” Epsilon tried, though he could feel Maine’s doubt, “Fine, maybe he did mean it.  But you know once he gets his head out of his ass, things are going to be different.  Killing yourself isn’t going to change anything.”

But Epsilon knew it wasn’t just what Wash had said.  It was… everything.  Everything Maine had done.  All the people he’d killed.  Carolina.  North.  He’d barely managed to stop from killing Wash several times.  He hid it well, but the guilt was eating him alive.  He was supposed to be the strong one.  He was supposed to get his teammates… his friends… out alive.  Instead he’d betrayed them.  Killed them.  It didn’t matter that Sigma had been pulling the strings. 

He was tired.  He was afraid.  He was in pain.  He was just… done.  He wanted it to be over.

Epsilon understood that feeling.  All too well.  From the moment he’d been brought into this world, all he’d known was pain.  All he had wanted was for it to end.  He’d begged for it to be over.   _Begged_ .  But no one had heard him.  No one had listened… not until... Wash. David.  It was only then, finally, Epsilon had found a reason to go on. 

“What about David?  You know if he even _thinks_ that you offed yourself because of him, it will _kill_ him!” Epsilon snapped angrily, and Maine flinched.  Well, good.  At least, that had gotten a reaction.  He didn’t want to do it this way.  Epsilon had planned to bring it up to both men… at some point… once he had decided it was the right moment.  But it seemed like it was going to be now or never. 

Ever since Epsilon watched Washington go over that cliff at Sidewinder it was as though a barrier in his mind had shattered.  He had been getting… flashes.  Memories.  But the memories he was seeing… they weren’t only his own.  They weren’t just the Alpha’s or the Director’s.  They were David’s memories. 

Epsilon could only assume it was a result of when he had been implanted.  When his and David’s mind had become so… tangled they could barely tell one from the other.  Then when the Director had forcibly torn him from Washington’s mind, he must have taken some of David’s memories with him.  Those memories, combined with the pieces he gathered from Maine’s broken mind, was beginning to paint a very clear picture. 

Wash and Maine had been more than just friends, more than just partners, in Project Freelancer.  Way more.

“He loved you… he probably still does, and that’s why this shit is hurting him so much.  You still love him.  You’ve got another fucking chance.  Most people would give anything for that.  Don’t waste it.”

* * *

“Damnit.  Where the fuck are they?” Grif muttered to himself.  Caboose was busy filling Donut in on everything that had been going on since they’d been separated.  God only knew what he was actually telling him.  But at least it was keeping the both of them busy while they waited. 

The plan, crazy as it had been, had pretty much gone off without a hitch.  Maine and Church had done most of the legwork providing the necessary distraction and extracting Donut.  Grif had the much easier job as the ‘getaway’ driver.  He’d picked up Donut as planned and then Caboose who’d been responsible for guarding their exit point.  Maine and Church stayed behind to give them time to escape. 

Now all they had to do was wait.  The amount of gunfire they’d heard behind them was unnerving.  The sound of the explosion even more so, but at least that was part of the plan.  The silence now, was somehow even worse. 

“Shouldn’t they be here by now?” Donut asked quietly once Caboose had reached the end of his tale.  He sounded tired, and concerned.  Grif found himself reluctant to answer. He’d been given strict instructions.  If Maine and Church didn’t show up by a certain time, they were supposed to keep going back to the others.  Leave them behind.  It was getting very close to the end of that time limit, but Grif found himself reluctant to follow through with those instructions. 

It wasn’t like he had any warm feelings when it came to Agent Maine.  Far from it.  But still the idea of leaving the man behind… Not to mention, Church.  It didn’t sit well with him.  Even if he was a Blue. 

Damn it. It was time.  They had to go.

“We can wait a few more minutes,” Grif decided. 

Those few minutes came and went.  Still nothing.  Should they go back for them?  It would probably be suicide…

The loud sound of a snapping tree branch had Grif startling and aiming his gun into the surrounding trees.  Then out of the darkness appeared a familiar blue set of armor.  Grif sighed and relaxed. 

Finally.

“Took you long enough!” he complained despite the relief he felt. 

Church appeared as a blue hologram near Maine’s shoulder.

“You were supposed to be gone by now.  Can’t you follow the simplest orders, Red? Or can you not tell time?” Church’s insult seemed to lack the bite it usually did.

“I can tell time!  It’s nap time!” Caboose chimed in happily now that his best friend had returned. 

“What, you’d rather walk back?” Grif countered, and it was Maine who replied by shaking his head wearily as he climbed into the back of the Warthog with Caboose.  The man looked pretty beat down, but at least he was in one piece. 

Grif shrugged and started driving back to the abandoned Freelancer outpost.  Being ‘nap time’ Caboose seemed content to quietly snooze in the back of the Warthog.  Donut was also soon fast asleep in the passenger seat.  While they hadn’t gotten the supplies they’d originally come for, he didn’t think the others would be too upset by this outcome. Grif found himself smiling.  It wasn’t such a bad road trip after all.  


End file.
